


Master of the House

by nubianamy



Category: Glee
Genre: Billy Joel - Freeform, Discipline, Dom/sub, M/M, New York City, Sexual Slavery, The Marketplace (series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Puck both have dreams of dominance and submission, but they never expected to run into each other at a Marketplace auction in New York City. Spoilers through season 4. Crossover with <a href="http://marketplace.wikispot.org/">Laura Antoniou's Marketplace universe</a>. Top!Kurt, Dom/sub, discipline. Written for the Puckurt Fic I Didn't Write Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in season 4, but AU because I didn't want to include Riley, so Finchel stands. Other AU elements throughout to fit with the Marketplace universe, but most of it is the same old Glee. Kurt/Puck, Rachel/Finn, mentions of Kurt/Blaine and Puck/Lauren. Warnings for Dom/sub, discipline and schmoopy Kurt/Puck romance. 
> 
> This story's soundtrack can be found here at Youtube, but individual songs are linked throughout the story as well.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> -amy

 

Carmen Tibideaux set her glasses down and rubbed the bridge of her nose with weary resignation. There was no way she was going to last through another six candidates before lunch. Half of the kids she'd seen this morning had zero sense of pitch, and it seemed the other half had no rhythm at all. They only had three slots to fill, and Carmen had a good sense of who those three might be, anyway. Only something really extraordinary would catch her attention at this point.

"Hello? My name is Kurt Hummel... I'm here to sing 'Music of the Night' from the seminal work  _The Phantom of the Opera,_  by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber."

She looked up to see a boy dressed in yet another Phantom costume, and sighed, not even bothering to hide her disdain.

"... Which I bet you hear a lot of... that song," he went on.

She allowed him a small smile. "That, 'The Impossible Dream' from La Mancha and 'Being Alive' from Company, yes."

Kurt nodded. "It's a safe and standard choice. Which is why I've decided to change things up a bit. Here, in the eleventh hour, I've decided to go in a different direction." His eyes gleamed as he took off his mask. "Something that's a little more out there, but much more me. "Not the Boy Next Door" from the Peter Allen bio-musical  _The Boy from Oz._ "

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqWZ77uzgZs>

_Coming home used to feel so good_  
 _I'm a stranger now in my neighborhood_  
 _I've seen the world at a faster pace_  
 _And I'm coming now from a different place_  
 _Though I may look the same way to you  
_ _Underneath there is somebody new_

The decision was bold, but Carmen decided later it was the way he pulled a whole set of backup singers out of nowhere that led her to write the notes she did:

_Kurt Hummel - singing adequate, performance showy but commendable. Dancing needs work. Not NYADA material, but recommend to Cassie._

She tapped the page with her pen, watching the confident expression on his face as he commanded the stage in his gold lamé pants.  _That's a potential Owner if I ever saw one. This may be the soft world, but I can still Spot a candidate._

Carmen felt pleased enough by his performance to tell Kurt, "Hugh Jackman would have been as impressed by what you did with that song as I was." She didn't bother to mention that Hugh lived out the majority of his time offstage as a slave, but if Kurt had any connections in the world of the Marketplace, he might already be aware of that fact. In any case, he clearly appreciated the compliment.

The remainder of the auditions were unmitigated disasters, especially that Rachel girl, but as soon as they were finally done, Carmen picked up her phone and dialed Cassie.

" _Carmen, I have less than two minutes until my next class arrives. This better be good."_

"I Spotted someone this morning."

" _Hold on."_  She heard some muffled, barked instructions.  _"I thought you were hearing auditions for NYADA today."_

"I don't take off one hat and put on a new one. I've always got my eyes open in the soft world. You'd be surprised how many potential slaves I find on the audition stage. But this one, he's a potential Owner."

" _Have you seen my schedule for this fall? You want me to drop everything and convince this soft world kid that he should train in the Marketplace? And just who's going to train him? You really think he'd move to New York for - what?"_

Carmen leaned forward on her arms and smiled. "Don't steal my thunder; you know I'm the convincing one. You're more the pain in the ass type."

" _Don't make me get on an airplane and show you just how much of a pain in your ass I can be."_

"I'll be back in New York in three days. In the meantime, though, you have to trust me that I  _know_  he's worth training, and that you're the best one to take him and show him what he needs to know." She nudged her coffee cup with one hand. "I can always send him to the Donnellys... Chicago is closer to Ohio, after all..."

" _Bitch."_ Carmen could hear Cassie's bitter smile.  _"You know competition's the only way to get me to do anything."_

"I know bribery won't work," Carmen agreed. "Mostly, though, I know your propensity for taking on slaves who excel in the arts. This kid's good. Not NYADA good, but the talent is there. I can guess what kind of pleasure slaves he would want to own."

" _Hmm. I'll keep that in mind. Your two minutes are up. I'll have to think about it."_

"I'll see how he responds to a little information. It's possible he might not even pass the first screening..." She paused and drank a sip of coffee.

" _If you really thought that, you never would have wasted my time."_

Carmen gazed at the silent phone, disconnecting the call. Cassie was right, of course, but instincts and potential only went so far. She needed to talk to this Kurt Hummel, and find out what lay beyond the oh-so-gay exterior.

* * *

Even though the Marketplace was barely on his radar by sophomore year, Kurt had Dave Karofsky to thank for introducing him to his dominant tendencies. With every threat, every sneer, every push against the lockers, Dave inspired Kurt's righteous anger, until it boiled forth - with completely unexpected results.

Dave's kiss, while not exactly pleasant, was the spark that lit a fire inside Kurt. He realized it was his  _words_ , the way he had treated Dave and stood up to him, that had led Dave to want him.

 _I can do that to boys,_  he'd thought, and the idea took his breath away.  _I can be in control, and they might actually like it. Might want it._

But the opportunity to actually do it didn't come until later, when he and Blaine were several months into their relationship, when they were beginning to go beyond kissing, groping and impatient groans.

"I want to tie you up," he'd said to Blaine, and Blaine had stammered out a red-faced denial of interest. Though his body had proved him a liar, Kurt didn't push him. He waited for Blaine to come to him and ask for it.

Kurt's first few attempts at shibari were disastrous, but after those ill-fated excuses for macrame, he got the hang of it. How to do it just tight enough, but not too tight. How to make the early knots loose enough that later tightening wouldn't be too uncomfortable. How to gauge when Blaine was close to coming, just by the way his skin looked under the pressure of the cables. His dad must have thought he was doing Boy Scouts or rigging sails or  _something,_  because he never asked about what all that rope was for.

Blaine, unfortunately, didn't respond as well as Kurt had hoped.

"You look so beautiful like that," Kurt told him one afternoon.

"I bet I look silly," Blaine complained from the confines of Kurt's precisely-constructed web. "Anyway, when do I get a turn to tie  _you_  up?"

 _Never,_  thought Kurt. But he was an equal-minded boyfriend, so the next time, he offered the rope to Blaine. Blaine took twenty minutes to decide if he wanted to tie Kurt's hands at his ankles or above his head, and by then, any semblance of mood was gone.

"Don't you think it's better to share the power in a relationship?" Blaine asked. Kurt had to admit he didn't.

After that, he and Blaine stuck to more vanilla exploits, but Kurt knew there was something keeping them apart, restricting their conversation and activities. It wasn't that he didn't like what they did. It was just that he knew Blaine didn't  _really_  want the things that lurked in the back of his mind, those things that made him go  _ohhhh, yes._  It was... unsettling.

He told himself it was fine, that he didn't really  _need_  those things. That they were extra, additional, like bubbles in his soda. But by the end of junior year, it was becoming harder to deny that, without bubbles, what he was doing with Blaine felt a little flat.

It was just another afternoon at the Lima Bean, facing one another across the table, Kurt watching Blaine play with his straw, when Blaine took a quick breath, furrowed his brow and said, "I think - we should stop seeing each other."

Kurt blinked. "Uh." His brows went up. "Where did that come from?"

Blaine didn't look anxious. He put a hand out to rest lightly on top of Kurt's. "You and me, we want different things. It doesn't mean I don't respect you. It means - I want you to get what you want. And, Kurt..." He shrugged. "It's not what I want."

Kurt closed his eyes, feeling the truth of it. "You think you know what I want?"

He laughed. "You've been telling me for over a year. I think I have some ideas." His fingertips brushed against Kurt's knuckles. "And I just want you to know I don't think there's anything  _wrong_  with that."

"Really." Kurt bristled. "Blaine, you tell me how many boys there are within a hundred mile radius who want to do the things I want to do. Because I suspect the number is fewer than the number of people at this table drinking grande nonfat mochas."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't want it." Blaine's smile was artificially cheery. "I don't want to stop being your friend, Kurt."

It was far easier than it should have been for the two of them to slip into just-friends mode, which said as much to Kurt as anything about the appropriateness of Blaine's choice to break up with him. Blaine put up a good front about being supportive of Kurt, but he wasn't going to push him to go outside his comfort zone. And Kurt was really not interested in finding out what exactly lay beyond his 100-mile radius of isolation. Searching on the Internet for information turned out to be more disturbing than fruitful, and after one or two attempts, he gave up.

But he couldn't deny it was lonely. It just got worse senior year, when Blaine became friends with Sam, and Tina and Mike were wrapped up in one another, and Mercedes had all but drifted away.

He found himself focusing all his attention on his studies, taking his classes more seriously, even if they were mostly as an excuse not to think too much about what he would do when school was over. When Rachel became obsessed with NYADA, it was easy to transfer his focus to that, especially after he didn't get the part he wanted in the school musical. It was so simple to pretend school and NYADA held all the answers he needed.

Until Rachel sat down with him while he was doing his math homework at the Hudmel kitchen table and said quietly, "I have a book you need to read."

"Rach, I'm really busy," he said absently, waving his hand. But she slid the book into his line of sight, and waited while he focused on the cover.  _The Marketplace._  "What is this, some kind of treatise on capitalism?"

"It's a book about an organization. A secret society, kind of, one that exists parallel to our own." She looked like she might be trying to placate a scared child. Kurt wrinkled his nose at her. "There are people who - who own other people. The slaves, they sign a contract. They have no power after they sign their contract, but they give it up freely."

Kurt felt an irritating rush of desire, but he tamped it down with long practice and pushed the book out of his way. "I don't have time for stories, Rach."

"Not a story," she insisted. "It's real. The Marketplace exists, in all major cities. New York has a training house." Her eyes gleamed. "You could apply."

He shook his head quickly. "I don't know what kind of delusions you're under, but this kind of thing only exists in novels. Leave me to my calculus,  _please."_

"Kurt..." Rachel gazed at him resolutely. "You can't deny it."

"Deny what , Rachel?" Kurt set his pencil down and glared back at her. "Yes, I've been single for far too long. Yes, maybe I miss some of the things I used to do with Blaine. What do you think I'm trying to  _deny_?"

"That you're wanting something more." Rachel sighed. "Blaine talked to me, okay?"

Kurt actually wasn't surprised to hear this. Blaine had always had inappropriate boundaries when it came to sex. He wasn't going to hold back if he thought he could help Kurt. He put out one hand and touched the book. "Let me guess. He told you about the rope?"

Rachel's face went red, but she didn't back down. "New York is going to be the ideal place for you to  _find yourself,_  Kurt. I don't have any doubt about that. When we go to NYADA together, it's going to be perfect."

But Kurt didn't get into NYADA. Kurt watched Rachel open her acceptance letter with unexpected, abject despair. Not because he wanted so much to go to NYADA, but because he knew Rachel and Blaine were right. He was never going to find what he wanted in Ohio.

That night, he shut himself in his bedroom, ignoring the first couple tentative attempts from Finn to knock on his door. Eventually Rachel texted him.  _Talk to Finn,_  she said.  _He's freaking out and he can't talk to me about it._

 _I'm freaking out too,_  Kurt texted back.

_Yeah, but you're not freaking out about the same things. He's convinced he'll always be a failure. You're convinced you'll always be alone. At least let him talk at you, okay? He just needs to know you're not going to abandon him for the big city when you leave._

Kurt almost asked,  _who says I'm leaving?_  But he decided it was pointless to follow that train of thought.  _He's my stepbrother,_  he said instead. _Nobody's leaving anybody._

Not ten minutes later, Kurt received an email.

> _Date: 14 Apr 2012, 9:26 pm EST_
> 
> _To: kurt hummel at gmail dot com_
> 
> _From:_ _tibideauxc at nyada dot edu_
> 
> _Subject: your audition_
> 
> _Kurt,_
> 
> _I'm writing because I'm assuming you've received your NYADA rejection letter by now. I'm sure it would not be any surprise to you to learn that the competition was fierce; we had only three spots to fill by the time I got to Lima, which didn't leave a lot of room for movement. You had a distinguished, if somewhat amateur audition, and I'm sure I could encourage you to reapply in the future._
> 
> _But I'm not here to do that. This contact is about an entirely different application process, one that is much more selective and specific about the kind of people it admits. If you know anything about the Marketplace, you may already have heard something about Spotters and their role in the soft world. Suffice it to say you've been noticed, Kurt Hummel._
> 
> _We leave it up to potential participants to self-select for involvement in Marketplace training. If you are not interested, I will bother you no further. If, on the other hand, you think you might be interested in learning more, I've appended my contact information. Don't hesitate to give me a call._
> 
> _\- Carmen Tibideaux, Interim Professor, NYADA_

Kurt wondered if he'd been hit by a clever spammer. For a moment he considered deleting the email, and forgetting he'd ever heard of Carmen Tibideaux, because this felt so much like a consolation prize. He wasn't at all sure he could face her after having failed to get in, especially when he'd been  _so sure_  he'd nailed it.

And yet...  _The Marketplace._  His fingers twitched. Then he opened up a browser window and performed a simple search.

What he found made him shiver, but he steeled his shoulders and kept reading.

_The Marketplace is a secret society of both masters and slaves, dedicated to full immersion into a lifestyle of total power exchange, in which the slaves have no rights or power after they sign their "slave contract". The contracts are not legally binding, but the agreements have effective power in the context of the Marketplace because any slave, or owner, who violates the contract terms can be ostracized from the secret community of the marketplace—for those whose desires and orientations lead them to membership in that community, being prevented from participating is a very strong motivation to follow the terms of the contracts._

Kurt reached for his glass of water, bringing it to dry, trembling lips. The images behind his eyes were terrifying, and compelling, and far, far too erotic for his brain to deal with. Carmen Tibideaux had seen something in him - something that had made her want  _him_  for this secret society. Something that had given her the idea that he wanted - what?

_To be a slave._

Kurt bit back a moan. How could he possibly want that? He'd spent his teenage life fighting bullies and tormentors who wanted to take control of him. There wasn't anything pleasant about the idea of giving up control.

 _And yet..._  Kurt tapped a few keys on his keyboard and sent a reply to Ms. Tibideaux's email.

> _Date: 14 Apr 2012, 9:49 pm EST_
> 
> _To:_ _tibideauxc at nyada dot edu_
> 
> _From: kurt hummel at gmail dot com_
> 
> _Subject: Re: your audition_
> 
> _I regret to inform you that whatever you thought you Spotted in me must be a mistake. I will never be anyone's slave. Thank you for the opportunity to audition for NYADA; perhaps you'll see me again next year._
> 
> _Kurt Hummel_

Kurt spent the next fifteen minutes ignoring his arousal, which he was accustomed to doing, and reading the issue of  _Vogue_  that had come in the mail the day before. Finally he sighed, unlocked his door and went to find his stepbrother.

Finn was sitting on the couch in the family room staring at the television, a bowl of Cheetos in his lap. He looked up at Kurt in surprise.

"You're not a failure, Finn," Kurt said.

"I - okay." Finn cocked his head. "You aren't, either."

"I know." Kurt sat beside him on the couch. "I just hate that nobody seems to see me the way I see myself. I've spent my whole life inventing myself from scratch, creating the me I want to be, and... I wish I could be recognized for that. I was hoping to find it at NYADA, but..."

"So you'll try again next year."

Kurt nodded. "Maybe. You could, too."

Finn gave a small smile, shaking his head. "No. Acting school's not for me, and neither is New York, really. That's your dream, and Rachel's, not mine. I want you to have it, though. Because you're awesome, Kurt. Anybody who doesn't see that is just an idiot."

Kurt smiled back, feeling so grateful to have a brother like Finn. "I'd better tell Rachel we talked. She might drive over here and orchestrate an intervention if I don't."

He pulled out his phone and went to send Rachel a text when he saw that Carmen Tibideaux had responded to his email already. He almost threw it away without reading it, but he couldn't resist taking a peek.

 _You're misunderstanding me,_  she'd said. _I didn't Spot a slave on that stage. I Spotted a master. I've been doing this a long time, and the signs are all there. You have all the makings of an Owner, Kurt. Let me meet with you and explain how it works. You can always say no._

Kurt sat there with his phone in his lap, staring at it, until Finn touched his hand and said nervously, "Uh, Kurt? What happened?"

He took a deep breath, let it out. "Somebody... saw me."

* * *

Puck found out about the Marketplace when he was twelve. There weren't a lot of restrictions in the Puckerman house, and nobody was policing what kind of books he read or which Internet sites he viewed.

For a while he thought it was an elaborate made-up world, and didn't give it much thought beyond  _wow, slaves and masters, that's kind of hot._  But pretty much everything was hot to a twelve-year-old boy, and in his wide and varied selection of fantasies, being shackled to a wall and flogged played second or third fiddle to, say, getting a blowjob from a hot chick. Or a hot dude, sure; Puck wouldn't say no to sex just because of a little thing like gender.

But then he made the mistake of his life and attempted to knock over an ATM machine, and got sent to juvie. Where, among many unpleasant things, he discovered the Marketplace was real.

Coming back to Lima after that was like being shown the entire wide view of the universe, with a little tiny arrow pointing and a sign that reads  _You are here._  Puck knew just how small his crummy little school in his crummy little town was, and he could barely stand it. On his first day back, he lost it in the office, ripping the clipboard out of that smarmy, supercilious parole officer's hands.

"You don't care about me!" he shouted at Mr. Schue. "Nobody cares about me."  _Nobody knows what I want. And I'm sure as hell not going to talk about it with anybody._

And then his Ma made the fatal error of shaving off his mohawk, and Puck experienced a week in the life of a loser at McKinley High. He definitely didn't like being thrown into dumpsters and catching slushies in the face. But getting rescued from that Port-A-John by Lauren Zizes was an epiphany for Puck. He found himself blinking up at her with something akin to worship.

"Come on," she said with resignation, and hauled him out of the oubliette and into the sunlight.

She put him in the back of her truck and drove him to her house. There, she cleaned him up efficiently, but with gentleness, and he just sat there on the floor of her shower, letting her strip off his disgusting clothes and hose him down.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked warily.

She shook her head. "Jeez, Puckerman. Haven't you ever seen  _The Breakfast Club?_  Because you're letting me." She wrapped him in a towel and tucked it neatly around his waist. "And that tells me something about you."

He followed her guiding arm to her bed, sitting where she indicated. "What does it tell you?"

"That you want someone else to be in charge. That when you're feeling weak, you want someone telling you what to do." She shrugged. "You're not the only one. Do you know about the Marketplace?"

She showed him a well-thumbed copy of a book, flipping through to the chapter on  _Slaves and Owners._  "Here. Read this while I throw your clothes in the wash. You smell like piss and ass, Puckerman."

He let himself be absorbed into the chapter, reading about the consensual role of slavery in the Marketplace:

 _To be thrilled at the touch of leather, aroused by the sound of harsh words, or satisfied_ _by the security of rigid bondage is the mark of a lover. To be thrilled at the opportunity to_ _provide useful service, aroused by a pleased nod, and satisfied by the proverbial job well done,_ _is the mark of a slave. It may sound severe. Almost anti-erotic. Until you see two people, owner_ _and owned, existing in a complementary relationship where each suits the other like balances_ _on a delicate scale._

When Lauren came back with a cup of hot coffee and a pair of clean sweats, he was crying.

"Holy shit," he said hoarsely. "How did you know?"

"I saw you," she said, and put a hand on his head. "And you're mine, now."

* * *

It was a good year for Puck. He was a lot calmer with Lauren there beside him in Glee, and even his academics were easier when he knew after school he didn't have to pretend to be in control. But the summer before senior year, she came to him at his house and sat him down, holding his hand.

"I'm not going to do this Glee shit anymore," she said. "It's totally lame and I'm way too annoyed with everybody's drama."

He nodded, feeling uneasy. "You - what do you want to do?"

"I'm setting you free," she said. "You're still my anti-Prom King, baby. But you're way more into this than I am. You need somebody who loves the drama as much as you do. It's just pissing me off." She kissed his cheek. Then she left.

It was the last time he saw her before senior year began, and by then he'd put away his heart in a box or a cage or a goddamn titanium jar, whatever metaphor you wanted, fuckyouverymuch. Because Puck wasn't going to put himself in a situation to get  _left,_  not ever again. No matter who owned this slave, they weren't going to touch that part of him.

* * *

By the end of senior year, Puck knew college wasn't in the cards. If he managed to graduate at all, he was pretty clear he wasn't going to want  _more_  school. "Come with me to LA, man," he said to Finn, in a fit of wild hope.

By now, Finn understood enough about his best friend to know that  _pool cleaning business_  was just a code word for the Marketplace. "I'm not going to LA, Puck," he sighed. "No matter how hot the chicks are. I'm marrying Rachel."

"I can't go by myself," Puck protested, dropping his voice. "You're my best friend. If you're with me, the city won't seem so... scary."

"Scared?" Finn scoffed, poking his shoulder. "Since when are you scared of anything?"

He could feel himself descending into a sulk, but it was almost impossible to stop it once it started, without Lauren to keep him from it. "It's not the same. This... it's not the regular city." Finn could only get so much about the Marketplace without firsthand knowledge - and no matter how supportive a best friend he might be, he just wasn't interested in getting some.

Then Finn brightened. "Come with us to New York," he said. "You can, uh, clean pools there, too, right? Me, and Rachel, and Kurt, we're all going to be there. If we get into school."

It was a very real possibility in Puck's mind, for those two weeks between the day Finn made the suggestion and the day he received his rejection letter. He wasn't exactly sure how the Training Houses worked, but he was pretty sure he had just as much chance of being accepted at one of the two major ones in New York as he did in LA. And having Finn there in the city with him, even if Rachel had to be around too, would be beyond awesome.

Then Finn came to him and told him he didn't get into Pace. It was almost as devastating to Puck as it was to Finn. He went and acquired three six-packs of Pabst and a big fat blunt, but Finn wasn't leaving his house. "Kurt won't come out of his room," he said on the phone. "I've got to be there for him when he does, and I can't be drunk."

So Puck had to dispose of his half of the beer and the entire joint all by his lonesome, which led to a lot of swearing and crying and angsty guitar playing. He might have texted Lauren six or seven times, but she didn't have a lot of patience for his whining anymore.

 _I'm alone,_  he told her.

 _Tough shit, Puckerman,_  she said.  _Everybody's alone, when you come right down to it._

He took another toke and held it, trying to keep his hand steady enough to reply.  _Nobody understands me but you._

_Jesus fucking christ. You need *me* to hook you up with a new girlfriend? I thought you had more balls than that._

_I'm not looking for a girlfriend._  He stared morosely at the television for five minutes before sending the text.

_Okay, a boyfriend, then. Whatever._

_No!_  He almost threw the phone across the room, but then he would  _really_  be alone.  _Fuck you. I can't get involved with anybody like that._

He couldn't articulate exactly what he  _did_  need, either. That had been Lauren's job, but she wasn't being very forthcoming. After five more minutes of silence, he sent a second reply:  _Fine. I'll deal with this on my own._

_Just don't knock over any more ATMs, Suckerman. Better yet, stay home tonight, okay?_

He had to grin. He knew she still cared, even if they weren't doing anything worth posting on Facebook.  _Don't think I could drive like this anyway, Zizes. I'll just go to bed._

But he didn't. He stayed up for three more hours, watching bad porn that didn't even touch his real desires. When that didn't quell the need inside him, he read the underground Marketplace message boards. They advertised openings in Training Houses, and private Owners looking for slaves, and slave auctions. With trepidation, Puck clicked on a link for one in New York, to be held the week after graduation.

 _I could still go,_  he told himself, like he was still having a conversation with Lauren. He imagined her reply:  _You'd get eaten alive in the big city. No matter how cool you think you are, Puckerman, you're still a small-town kid, just like the rest of us._

He sighed as he turned off his computer, and leaned back in his bed to jack off, finally, before attempting to sleep. It would be another long night.

* * *

Kurt spent an entire afternoon in the corner of the Lima Bean with Carmen Tibideaux, trying not to dissolve into a wide-eyed, spluttering mess. He'd known he was largely an innocent, that there were things he didn't know about the way the world worked. But  _this_  was a whole bunch of things he  _had_  considered, had even fantasized and dreamed about, but had never, ever expected to see in actual life. And, apparently, he'd been wrong about that, too. A  _lot_  of that.  _Slaves and masters. Training. Consensual relationships of owners and the owned._

"You're not kidding, are you?" he said at one point, reaching out to clutch her arm. "This is real?"

"Real as you or me," Carmen agreed, nodding. "It's my reality, anyway. This, the rest of the world - what we call  _the soft world -_  it's the part that seems like an illusion to me. I'm completely sure that the majority of the soft world would be as stumped by what we do in the Marketplace as I am by what they do."

Kurt considered all the questions he might want to ask, and chose one of the most crucial and least embarrassing. "You said this was a... selective process. Does that mean I need to worry about being - cut? Excluded? I mean, how does this work?"

She smiled. "It's not a club, if that's what you're asking. You need a placement in a training house somewhere in the world in order to draw out your natural leadership tendencies and refine your skills in handling slaves. But the only way you can be excluded is if you break the rules."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Which are?"

"Slaves have no rights, but there's a good deal of peer pressure among Owners to treat them well. If you're violent or cruel, you won't last long in the Marketplace - meaning your peer group will shun you. Social standing is everything among Owners." Carmen grimaced. "One of the reasons I stay on the fringe of the community. I don't have a lot of tolerance for the politics of small-minded dictocrats."

Kurt was silent for some time while he sipped his mocha. "And you think I should... what? Join a training house full of these small-minded dictocrats? You really think I should trade one appalling social prison for another?"

Carmen laughed. "Kurt... you're going to find that the world is full of social structures, and if you want to be successful, you have to play the game. I choose not to be successful. You... I suspect, with a little effort and refinement, you could be... formidable."

Kurt found himself blushing under her gaze, and her smile widened. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just a little hard to believe."

"What, that you could become a political power in a secret society of slave owners?"

Kurt coughed. "Um... no? That anybody  _else_  thinks I could do that."

"That's my skill: seeing what's possible." She leaned forward on her forearms, looking him right in the eye. "What you do with that possibility is up to you. I can't make you into anything. But if you think you want this, I can give you the number of a woman who can."

He forced himself not to look away. "I'm... yes. I want this."

It was a significant admission, but he didn't realize how much it had affected him until several hours later, long after he'd bid farewell to Carmen and taken the dark purple business card, bearing nothing but a Manhattan phone number and the word  _Trainer._

Kurt lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, not only awake, but unaccountably jittery. He picked up his phone and sent a text to Rachel. She was likely asleep, knowing how early she usually went to bed.  _That book you showed me,_  he wrote.  _The Marketplace. I believe you. It's real._

Even though he knew she wouldn't be able to respond until the following morning, he felt better knowing he'd put the words out there into the world. He knew it was real, and he wanted it. And Carmen thought he could be -  _a political power._  He felt a shiver. It was tempting.

But Kurt had gone all his life not getting what he wanted. To claim it now felt - not selfish, exactly. Irresponsible, maybe.

Erotic, definitely.

Kurt indulged in a few moments of fantasy, in which he pictured himself in control of a beautiful, sculpted man, bound, on his knees, gazing up at Kurt with adoration and love. It was a familiar image, and it never failed to get him off in bare minutes. Only, for the first time in his whole life, he actually  _believed_  it could happen. Might happen.

 _Would happen,_ he thought, with an equal mixture of terror and determination.

* * *

Puck knew Ms. Pillsbury had told him he'd graduated, but he waited until he actually had the diploma in his hand before he bought the train ticket to New York. It also took the last of his money; he had been slowly using it up, not really having much of an opportunity during the school year to make more after he'd stopped  _actually_  cleaning pools. But he got a little money from his Nana for graduating. He was pretty sure she'd disown him if he told her  _why_  he was going out to New York, so he just told her and the rest of his family he was sightseeing.

He took his guitar, and some clothes and his toothbrush and stuff, and Lauren's copy of  _The Marketplace_ , but he really didn't have much more to bring with him, not that mattered to him. Most of what mattered was inside, where nobody saw, and it wasn't likely to come out into a journal or a song or even in bed. He wasn't going to risk that much.

The train dropped him off in Penn Station, and then Puck took the downtown #2 to Brooklyn and walked the couple blocks to the address Lauren had given him. The brownstone was unassuming - classy enough, but he wasn't going to be intimidated by the urban façade. He just rang the bell and waited.

The girl who answered the door looked ordinary, too. She was dressed in an outfit that could have been a uniform or just a very simple suit. Either way, it had clearly cost more than his guitar. She cocked her head at him.

"May I help you?" she said doubtfully.

He fumbled in his pocket. "I, uh, have a letter. From my... from the person who used to own me. She talked to the owner, Mrs. Anderson?" He held out the letter, but at the girl's expression let it slip a little. "Uh... I'm here for the... the slave auction."

"Mrs. Anderson doesn't speak to anyone," she said. Now her tone was frosty.

"She's Lauren's great-aunt?" Puck watched the girl's eyes widen. "I guess she thought I could use a little help, because she told Lauren I could crash with the other slaves up on the third floor while I'm here."

"You haven't been trained." But she took the letter, and once she'd opened it and read the lines it contained, she looked at him with a little more compassion. "You look hungry. Why don't you come into the kitchen and I'll get you something to eat?"

"Thanks," he said gratefully. "Amtrak food sucks."

After feeding him and taking his boots to be cleaned, Gail hustled him upstairs to the public bathroom next to the slave quarters. "We're short one trainee right now," she said, showing him the bunk bed in the room across the hall. "You really don't realize how lucky you are to be allowed inside. The potential here for you to undo these slaves' training... but I suppose Mrs. Anderson's point is well taken, that you would benefit from talking to them before attempting to take part in an auction." She glared at him. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"No," he agreed. "I guess not. But I have to start somewhere. And, honestly, no matter what happens, even if this whole thing is a bust... I don't have anything to lose."

Gail sighed. "We've all been there."

Puck ran a finger along the wooden bedpost, over the rings and chains looped around the frame. "So... if I'm staying here, do I have to... follow any rules? How much freedom do I have? Can I, like, go out tonight? See the city? I've only been here once, and it was a lot more chaperoned."

She gave him a reluctant smile. "You're free to do whatever you like, until you sign a slave contract. But I suspect you're going to need a keeper, regardless. You can come out with me and Vicente to the club, if you don't mind hanging out with some boring locals. It'd prevent you from being picked up by some player, at least." She squinted at him. "Or - are you straight?"

"Whatever," he shrugged. "And sure, I'd love that. Thanks."

By the time Puck got himself cleaned up, the slaves-in-training coming off shift had arrived in the slave quarters. They were mostly disdainful of him ("Just a softworlder," murmured one of the girls, letting her eyes slide off him), but a couple of them wanted to hear his story and took him with them to dinner. Their own stories weren't so different - one from Austin, one from Jacksonville, both looking for something their cities couldn't offer, driven by their need to give up control completely.

"You're going to put yourself in the auction? Without a house?" The boy looked incredulous. "Nobody would buy an untrained slave, no matter how gorgeous you are."

"So I'll get trained, then," Puck said. The girl snorted.

"Just like that, huh? You think it's so easy to be placed?" She shook her head. "Don't count on it. You have a lot to learn."

The evening didn't get much better from there. Gail and the house chef, Vincente, took him to their favorite club. He got big x's marked on the backs of his hands with Sharpie, branding him under 21, and after that - for the first time in years, really - Puck found himself largely ignored. Everybody was trying their hardest to get noticed, with their makeup and clothes and moves. Nobody cared much about a boy in a tank top and faded jeans. He tried dancing, but it just felt hollow.

At one point, Gail checked in with him, touching his shoulder. "You don't look like you're having much fun. What, the big city's not what you expected?"

"It's kind of exactly what I expected," he said. "I'm just waiting to find my place."

The slave auction the next day was pretty much what Puck had expected, too. He felt like he'd been thrust into the pages of a racy BDSM novel. He could barely keep from staring as he was checked in, inspected, groomed and undressed. It would have been the most erotic thing he'd ever done, if he hadn't been so terrified.

"Where's your collar?" asked a handler. Puck blinked.

"Uh," he said.

"It doesn't matter. You'll get one from your owner, if you're contracted." He made a loop of rope around Puck's neck and clipped the lead to it, walking with him to a pedestal and leaving him there.

Unfortunately, neither Gail nor the slaves were kidding about Puck being overlooked. He tried his best to sit attentively, to make himself look good, but apparently nobody wanted an "unsponsored green hick."

"They didn't have to call me names," he muttered to Gail that evening, back at the Brooklyn brownstone. Gail cut him a slice of cream cake and placed the fork in his hand.

"Consider this is a long path. So, you're at the beginning. As long as nobody fills that bed upstairs, you're welcome to stay here, and try again in three months, at the next auction." She regarded him thoughtfully. "In the meantime, I bet I can do some things to help you. Let's start by shaving off that mohawk, okay?"

* * *

_  
_<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgla91W6D9U>

_I find a couple of stars in the sky_  
 _The rest are all being outshined by the light of this town_  
 _So I look down at the ground and see the stars in the sidewalk  
_ _But all it does is get me down_

 _'Cause it ain't pretty_  
 _The heart of this city_  
 _Where everyone's just trying to impress_  
 _And yeah I pity_  
 _The ones that just try to look pretty  
_ _In other words I pity myself_

 _Oh from the valley I look to the mountain to find my only way out  
_ _Follow the light from the Belt of Orion_

 _And on the corner's a man with his hand out_  
 _All I have to give him is my ever-changing smile_  
 _But in the back of my head I want to sit with him and talk with him  
_ _But that will keep me there for a while_

 _He is a wanderer_  
 _Well so am I_  
 _I just have my place to stay_  
 _But it makes me wonder_  
 _How if everything went under  
_ _I would still be okay_

 _Oh from the valley I look to the mountain to find my only way out  
_ _Follow the light from the Belt of Orion_

 _I find a couple of stars in the sky  
_ _The rest are all being outshined_

_\- The Belle Brigade, "Belt of Orion"_

* * *

Kurt accepted Rachel's squeal and hug with tolerance, but really, he was glad to see her. "I can't believe you're here!"

He smiled. "No matter how cheerful you pretended to be on the phone, I knew you were miserable."

"NYADA is wonderful, and New York is wonderful, and... yeah," she agreed. "I'm miserable."

"Exactly." He took her arm. "It's ridiculous. Here you are, in  _New York._ I'm here to remind you why you wanted this life to begin with."

He didn't tell Rachel about the  _other_  reason he was there until that evening, when they were sprawled on her mattress and had polished off a bottle and a half of viognier.

"A - trainer?" she said, her eyes enormous.

"A trainer of Owners," he clarified. "I can't tell you her name, but Carmen says she is highly regarded in the Marketplace. And I'm willing to believe I could learn something from her."

"Wow." She smiled, resting her head on her hands. "You're really doing this."

"I'm considering it. I'm willing to talk to her. I just know that things aren't always as easy as they appear. I mean, maybe she'll be as awful as your dance teacher is at NYADA. I might hate it."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "But maybe it'll still be what you need."


	2. Chapter 2

Puck stormed through the service door into the kitchen, slamming it behind him. Gail barely looked up from her dinner prep.

"You know Vincente would tan your behind if he saw you letting the door slam like that," she said mildly.

"Fucking good thing he's off today, then.  _God dammit,_ Gail." He sat down at the kitchen counter and ran his hands over his face. "Why can't I get anybody to look at me?"

"Because there are thousands of applicants every year, and you're completely untrained -"

"That's not true! I had Lauren."

"- and you don't have any house to sponsor you," she went on, not pausing, "and you're uncouth and ungroomed. And you interrupt your elders all the -"

"I do not!"

"- time. And you have no qualifications, no skills, nothing to make you stand out in a crowd."

He glared at her across the counter. "I play guitar. I can sing. I can... clean your pool. Kind of."

She gave him a tolerant, amused smile over the chopped leeks. "Anything else?"

"I can play football," he said, more slowly. "And I  _never_  leave a woman unsatisfied."

"Hmm, a pleasure slave, eh?" Her smile broadened. "I might see that, for the right owner."

He tilted his head. "What's a pleasure slave? Sounds like my kind of thing."

"It's not all about sex, if that's what you're thinking. A pleasure slave has to be prepared to be not only appealing, skilled and ready to satisfy his owner's every whim, but also to be knowledgeable about his owner's interests. Pleasure slaves might dance, play sports, discuss politics, attend the theater or do any of a number of things."

Puck straightened up. "Hey, I can totally do that!"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. Marketing yourself as a pleasure slave means you'd be opening yourself up to a much wider variety of requirements." She brandished the knife at him. "Are you really willing to do anything your owner wants you to do?"

He shivered. "Yeah."

She raised an eyebrow. "What if you find yourself owned by a man who likes nothing better than to play chess all day?"

"Yeah, right. Who'd bid on me, if they wanted to play chess? Poker, maybe." He sighed. "Who am I kidding, anyway. I've been to three auctions and nobody's looked twice at me."

"Cheer up. If you have anything going for you, it's your courage and enthusiasm. I think you've got more a chance of succeeding than just about anyone else fresh out of the soft world. Keep trying."

Puck smiled despite himself. "You're really too good to me."

Gail lifted the potatoes out of the rinse water in the sink and began peeling. "Most of the thanks go to my generous employer, who hasn't insisted I throw you out onto the street. You know how much a room in Brooklyn rents for these days?"

He knew her stern expression was just a front, and with a cheeky smirk, he snatched a piece of bread out of a bowl on the counter before darting out of the room.

* * *

The brisk knock at the door drew Kurt's attention. Moments later, Cassie's face appeared. "You're nearly ready?"

"Just finishing putting on my face," Kurt said. She gave him a derisive snort.

"You wear  _makeup,_  Hummel?"

"Just enough to make it look like I'm not wearing any," he said airily. "You're really surprised?"

She leaned against the door frame, grinning. "I'm surprised your roommate let me into your apartment. You know she hates me."

"Yes," he agreed. "She's also terrified of you. It's a complex combination."

"Nothing complex about fear, Hummel. It's the easiest tool. And, seriously, she passed my class. What does she have to worry about now?"

He grinned back at her in the mirror, smoothing his cheekbone with a makeup wedge. "If you're seriously asking me that question, you don't know Rachel very well."

"Rachel. That's her name." Cassie nodded solemnly. "I think I'd blocked it out after I started calling her Schwimmer."

Kurt stood, straightening invisible wrinkles from his shirt before donning his tuxedo jacket. "You're sure I can attend this... auction? I'm only a trainee."

"You're eligible to attend. I doubt you'd be able to outbid any serious Marketplace owner, if you really wanted to contract someone. It's not about money, it's about status, and who you know, and..."

"And I don't know anybody," Kurt finished. "Except you. And Carmen."

"Yeah, and she's lower than dirt when it comes to influence. But, hey." She put an arm around him. "A couple of my protegés will be making their big debuts. There will be plenty to learn, just by being there. Nobody's expecting you to participate. Just watch."

Cassie made an effort to be friendly to Rachel, but it could have just as easily have come across as intimidating, because that's the way Cassie always was. Kurt seemed to be immune to it, but he saw it work its magic on slaves every day, in his training to be an owner.

"You've got something on your shirt, there," Cassie said offhandedly, leaning over to take an apple from the bowl on the table. Rachel shrank back, avoiding contact with her, watching with enormous eyes. Then she glared at Kurt.

He gave Rachel an apologetic frown, part  _sorry about this,_ part  _come on, she's not that bad._  But he knew better now. He'd learned a vast amount in six months of training, and he had two and a half years to go before he'd be done. He could only imagine how much there was remaining to learn about the care and handling of slaves.

"She really needs someone to put a collar on her," Cassie said, making Kurt choke. She flagged down a cab with one sharp whistle.

"I think Rachel would murder Finn in his sleep if he did that," he replied. "She hates being out of control."

Cassie's eyes glittered as they climbed into the cab. "Oh, honey. That girl doesn't need a man to collar her."

That put Rachel's frenimosity with Quinn in a whole new light, now that Kurt thought about it. "Huh." He took Cassie's unspoken cue, and leaned forward to tell the driver, "Time Warner Center, Columbus Circle, if you please."

The condo was big enough to hold every one of the two hundred guests on the list, their slaves, and the merchandise on sale, with plenty of space for mingling and eating hors d'oeuvres. Kurt smiled graciously at everybody Cassie introduced him to ("my new trainee, Kurt Hummel - it's his first auction, you know"), but he knew there was no way he would remember their names by the end of the night. He was already starting to feel overwhelmed. The amount of money displayed on people's necks alone was dumbfounding. He saw more diamond-studded collars than he'd ever expected would exist.

She leaned in, smiling. "Do you see anything you like?"

Kurt surveyed the room, trying to be cool. The slaves on auction were displayed naked on pedestals, mostly kneeling, though a few were demonstrating their talents or showing off particular attributes. Kurt felt sorry for one girl who'd clearly been corset-trained, her bust and hips exaggerated, though she didn't appear to be complaining.

Then his eyes stuttered over one slave, and paused. He blinked once, twice. "Fuck me," he breathed.

"Which one?" She tracked his gaze, focusing on the boy kneeling on the pedestal. "Him? Really?" She furrowed her brow. "Don't get me wrong, he's delicious, but not what I would have expected from you. I really thought you liked pretty boys."

 _He's pretty enough,_  Kurt thought, his mind reeling.  _He's also a complete idiot, and he used to throw me into dumpsters._ "We used to go to school together," he said.

She sighed. "Oh, Hummel. You really don't want to deal with people from your life in the soft world here. It throws off your whole game."

"No, of course. You're right." He shook off the vision of Puck, there on the pedestal, his head bowed, the rough black leather collar completely clashing with his skin tones, and turned to Cassie, smiling. "Let's keep going. I want to see everything."

But later in the evening, his eyes were drawn a second time to look at Puck. It was not his unclothed beauty that distracted him this time. The room was full of naked, lovely, polished bodies. It was the man standing in front of him, staring at him like he was a dish on the buffet.

"Mr.  _Ryerson?"_  Kurt gasped, starting across the room with long strides. Ryerson was already reaching to stroke Puck's shoulder by the time he arrived.

"What an unexpected delight," Ryerson purred. Puck's face was red, and the expression on his face could have broken glass bottles from across a parking lot. "Noah Puckerman, in the flesh. All of it. What on God's green earth are you doing in New York? You're no slave."

"Not for  _you,"_  Puck spat. Mr. Ryerson drew back, but the handler standing to Puck's right immediately took the heavy tawse from her belt and brought it down on Puck's backside. He made a low grunting noise, but he held his position, with just a mild stumble forward from the impact.

"Pleasure slaves are instructed to serve any owner, in any way they choose," the handler said in a monotone. Puck glared up at Ryerson, but he settled, gritting his teeth.

Ryerson was laughing. "A  _pleasure slave._  Well, this is my lucky day. But, truly, Noah... you can't tell me you've been trained. Your behavior here proves that."

"I... can take instruction," Puck said, in a subdued voice. It made Kurt's heart hurt a little to hear him talk to  _Sandy Ryerson_ that way. Puck, the badass, had never been pleasant, but he was predictably strong-willed.

"You certainly can," Ryerson said fondly, stroking Puck's shaved head. "And you will." He took a slip of paper from his pocket and scribbled something on it, passing it to the handler. "Have him oiled before I come to collect him."

Kurt didn't hesitate. He didn't even think, past the visual of Ryerson's hand on Puck's head. He stepped forward, clearing his throat. "You might want to reconsider that, Sandy."

Puck hadn't noticed Kurt until that moment. His head whipped up, and his astonished eyes made contact with Kurt's. He opened his mouth, his lips making shapes that could have been words, if any sound had come out. Kurt just looked back as steadily as he could.

Ryerson considered Kurt. "Do I know you? Oh, wait... you're Burt Hummel's kid, aren't you? What an amazing coincidence." He looked like he'd tasted something unpleasant. "I was just speaking to my Marketplace contact in congress the other day. I wonder what he'd say if I mentioned I'd seen you here."

"I'm sure he'd say what every Marketplace participant would say," Kurt replied, hoping his pounding heart would not be heard through his tuxedo jacket. "We have a code of anonymity among softworlders."

"Even little boy's fathers?" Ryerson said, his voice dropping to a slippery whisper. "We have so much we keep from our families."

"You can't do that," Puck burst out. The handler's tawse came down on him without hesitation, two strikes this time, but he didn't even flinch. "Mr. Ryerson, Kurt never did anything to you. You can't tell his dad about the Marketplace. He's a great dad, but I'm pretty sure it would break him."

"Well, then, he'll stand back, won't he," Ryerson said, jerking his head at Kurt, "and let me take what's mine."

The worst part was, Kurt could see that Puck was going to let it happen. He knew enough about pleasure slaves to know that this was, unfortunately, appropriate protocol. Puck apparently knew this too. He bowed his head, his shoulder shaking only slightly. His voice was just a ghost of a whisper. "Yes... sir."

Kurt pitched his voice to carry. "Since you seem to stand on the importance of procedure so much, Sandy, I'm sure you've mentioned to your contacts here in the Marketplace that you were arrested."

Ryerson's hand, reaching for Puck's collar, paused in its path. "Those charges were dropped."

"Oh, not the pedophilia charge. Although I'm sure that would draw some attention, wouldn't it? No, I'm talking about the charges of you selling drugs to minors. Those were substantiated, I'm pretty certain. And we all know how kindly the Marketplace looks on owners who use drugs."

Ryerson's lips tightened, but his hand fell to his side. "There's no way you could make an accusation like that stick, my boy."

Kurt reached forward with one hand and tipped Puck's chin up to meet his gaze. Puck's eyes were wide with shock, but there wasn't any fear that Kurt could see, just an amazed willingness to follow Kurt's lead.  _He trusts me,_  Kurt thought, and that was almost more incredible than anything else that had happened that night.

"I'm never going to be  _your boy,_  Sandy," he said. "And neither is this one." He flicked his eyes at the handler. "Have a contract drawn up. I'm taking him home."

* * *

"What the fuck are you  _doing,_  Kurt?" Puck whispered for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.

This time, instead of ignoring him, Kurt took a firm hold of the leather lead he'd attached to the collar around his neck, steering him into the hallway. The bathroom was open, and Kurt pushed Puck in ahead of him, closing the door firmly. Then he grabbed Puck's collar and slammed him up against the wall, teeth bared in anger and frustration.

"I'm saving your sorry butt, that's what I'm doing," Kurt hissed. "Tell me you wanted Sandy Ryerson to take you home and keep you as a slave. For  _years._  Because that's what you were offering here."

Puck glared right back at him. "I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew the risks. Trust me, I've been living in the Anderson's brownstone in Brooklyn for the past nine months. I get to see just what slaves do."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Pleasure slaves, Puck?"

Kurt didn't seem fazed by Puck's declaration. In fact, come to think of it, he hadn't looked at all surprised to see him at the auction, either. Puck, on the other hand, was still having trouble wrapping his brain around  _Kurt Hummel_ , here, in the Marketplace - as an  _Owner._  And now Kurt was holding his lead, grabbing his collar, standing here mere inches from his face, and Kurt -

Holy shit, Kurt owned  _him._

"What?" Puck said faintly, staring at him. "Sorry, I think I missed that."

"You don't know what pleasure slaves do. Whatever slaves you've met at the Anderson's, they're not getting trained to do that, because that's specialized training. Always done in another city, always with a Master Trainer, and encompassing many years." Kurt shook his head. "I have no idea what you're pretending at here, Puck, but you might as well give it up."

Puck felt his throat close up on his retort, and he realized, to his horror, he was on the edge of tears. In front of fucking  _Kurt._

"I know I'm nothing but a miserable failure," he snapped, trying to push the wobble out of his voice, "and a goddamn fraud of a slave with no training, and all the other shit people have been telling me all month. I don't need  _you_  to remind me."

Kurt's brows lowered into perplexity for a moment. Then his hand relaxed, letting Puck go. He placed the leather lead in Puck's hand.

"I'm not calling you a failure," Kurt said, his voice more gentle. This made Puck want to cry even more. He stared at the lead, then gave Kurt a questioning look. Kurt sighed. "Puck, you're not my slave. I was just trying to get you out of Ryerson's clutches. You're free to go."

Puck felt a bizarre mix of relief and terror. "Not your slave," he repeated.

"No." Kurt put a hand on his bare shoulder. At that moment, Puck realized he was naked, and Kurt was standing right in front of him, close enough to touch. Or kiss. Or push out of the way and dodge, down the hall and -

And what? Where was he going to go? He didn't have any clothes. It wasn't like he could go flag down a cab. He couldn't go back to the Anderson's. He'd signed his freedom away already, and nobody there was going to accept him as a slave if they found out he'd skipped out on his contract.  _Not that they would have accepted me anyway._  He gritted his teeth.

"Kurt, you have to take this contract," Puck said.

Kurt shook his head. "What?"

"You  _have_  to. It's like, a code, or something. You break your contract, you're a pariah. I can't do that to you. Or me." He pressed the lead firmly back into Kurt's hands.

It was Kurt's turn to stare at the lead. "Puck... I can't have a slave. I'm just a trainee. I have two and a half more years to go before I can even think about starting my own House."

"You wouldn't be here if it weren't allowed. You always do things by the book." Puck put a pleading hand on Kurt's chest. "Kurt, this is my third auction. Before today, nobody's hardly even looked at me, much less bid on me. I need you to help me. Help me learn how to be a slave. You're getting trained, right? So teach me what you know."

Kurt was shaking his head, looking uncertain. This wasn't the same guy Puck had seen at the auction, confidently holding his chin, gazing into his eyes.  _I would have followed that guy anywhere,_  thought Puck, and he felt himself blush.

"Please," he whispered. "I beg you."

Kurt let out a little gasp, and stumbled back. Puck was caught off balance, falling forward and landing heavily on Kurt's chest. Kurt dropped the lead and put up both hands to catch Puck as he fell onto him, wrapping his hands around both wrists and holding them fast. Puck was entirely mortified to find himself getting hard. He gazed at Kurt's mouth, feeling his breath uneven and shallow against his skin.

Then there was a heavy, sharp rap on the door. Kurt startled. "There's a line out here," said an annoyed voice.

Kurt lifted Puck off him, letting his wrists go. He made no mention of, nor even appeared to notice, Puck's semi-erection - but he did pick up his fallen lead. Puck felt the heavy weight fall away from his shoulders, and he sighed in relief.

Kurt took Puck's hand and looped it through his arm, patting it in a gesture that was quaint, ridiculous and completely Kurt.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go collect your clothes. And I'm going to take off that horrible collar."

Puck stumbled as he walked, the fear returning with raging force. "Kurt..."

His voice was brisk. "There's no way I'm letting you set foot in my apartment wearing something as gauche and cheap as that. Where did you pick that up? The Pink Pussycat? I have a Dior Grey collar waiting for you at home."

Puck felt a crazy grin spread over his face. He grabbed Kurt in a hug, nakedness be damned. "Thank you, Kurt, I -"

"You. Slave." Puck felt a stinging slap on his ass, and he was pulled off Kurt by hands that were none too kind. The beautiful blonde woman was glaring at him. "You will treat your new Owner with the respect he is due."

"Cassie," Kurt said with a sigh, "it's just Puck. He doesn't have to -"

"Yes," she said. "No matter what he was to you in the soft world, here, he really does. And he's yours now, for six months." She handed a sheaf of papers to Kurt. "Standard trainee slave contract, with the option to renew. You're not going to break him by requiring him to follow protocol, and it can only help his training." Cassie looked him up and down, sneering. "Such as it is. Who taught you how to obey, boy? Get down on your knees."

Puck dropped to one knee under the pressure of her hand. He looked quickly at Kurt, who appeared troubled - but then Kurt's face cleared, and he smiled calmly down at Puck.

"All the way down," Kurt whispered. He put a hand on Puck's head as he moved quickly to comply. "That's it. Back straight, feet under, hands on your thighs."

Puck held his breath, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.  _Don't let him down,_  he thought.  _Even if it's just a game, you're going to play the fuck out of it._

"Sir," he murmured, casting his eyes at the floor, and gazing back up at Kurt through lowered lashes.

"Better," said Cassie critically. But Kurt appeared frozen in shock, his mouth hanging open. Cassie reached over and closed it with a  _click._  "Come on, Hummel, let's get you and your new toy home before you start drooling."

* * *

Kurt removed the offending collar before they'd left the condo. He'd just as soon have disposed of it, but he wanted to make sure it didn't mean anything significant to Puck before he did. There was so much he didn't understand about why Puck was even here. He had no idea what had happened to Puck to get him from Lima to the Anderson's training house in New York, but he was going to find out.

They went by the Anderson's house so Puck could pick up his suitcase. He gave some vague answer when Kurt asked him how he'd come to stay there, because the Andersons was one of the most prestigious training houses in the world. It was just one more empty space in a very complicated puzzle. Kurt directed the cab back to his apartment.

"Don't tell me you have your own apartment," Puck said, looking around the empty Bushwick district street as Kurt helped him out of the cab.

"No," said Kurt. He stared up the staircase with dismay. "I have a roommate. She's a softworlder, but she knows about the Marketplace. And trust me, she's going to have a field day with this."

Kurt wasn't wrong. Rachel's first reaction was confusion. "Puck!" she said, hugging him. "This is... a pleasant surprise. What brings you to New York?"

Puck hesitated, glancing at Kurt, his face scarlet. "Fuck, Kurt," he muttered. "You're not going to make me explain this to Rachel Berry, are you?"

"Bathroom's at the far end, clean towels on the shelf," Kurt said, giving him a nudge. "You get that disgusting oil washed off. I'll take care of it."

Rachel watched Puck retreat with suspicion. "What's going on here? I thought you were going to a Marketplace event tonight?"

"Rachel..." Kurt drew her over to the kitchenette and indicated her to sit. "You're really not going to believe this. I barely do, myself. Puck... he's a slave.  _My_  slave."

While Rachel slowly recovered from her shock, Kurt explained what had happened at the auction. "It's only a six month contract. He'll mostly be occupied while I'm in training anyway, so you won't see much of him. We have to keep up the front that he belongs to me, that we're honoring the terms of the contract, for my sake as much as his."

"Kurt..." Rachel shook her head, looking thoughtful. "You say he's been going to these auctions of his own free will, waiting to be... contracted? That he  _wants_  to be a slave?"

"Well, yeah," Kurt said, squirming a little at the idea. "Apparently, yes."

"So you need to do more than honor the terms of the contract. You actually need to keep him as your slave."

He stared at her. "Noah Puckerman? My slave?"

"I know you're not pretending here, Kurt. This is something you want as much as he does." She gave him a little smile. "And, honestly, I'm not all that surprised to find this out about Noah. He might really benefit from having somebody tell him what to do."

"Rachel!" Kurt protested. "I can't believe you're taking this seriously. Puck would never let me - he's not going to -"

"Hey, Kurt?" they heard Puck's voice call from the bathroom. "What do you want me to wear? Doubt Berry wants me to wander around the house in the buff."

Kurt closed his mouth, glaring at Rachel as she stifled a giggle. "Wear whatever you want," Kurt called back, trying not to sound hysterical. "God," he added to Rachel, "where is he going to  _sleep?"_

"At the foot of your bed?" she suggested brightly. "Okay, okay, calm down. He can stay on the couch until we get him something better."

He looked hard at her. "You're taking this all very well."

"Kurt. I was the one who told  _you_  about the Marketplace, wasn't I?" He nodded. "So, maybe I did some reading of my own? I'm not a complete innocent, you know."

Kurt was not going to believe that of Rachel Berry without a good deal of alcohol in her, but he sighed, nodding.

She moved in close beside him, bringing her voice down to a whisper. "So, is he going to, like, do the dishes and clean the house, or what?"

"No, he's a - a pleasure slave." Kurt saw her eyes widen, and he hastened to explain. "He's supposed to do things with me, to anticipate my interests. To... keep me entertained."

"Damn," said Rachel, her smile widening. "Puck's a really good kisser. I bet he'd keep you entertained, all right."

"Shut up," Kurt hissed, as Puck emerged from the bathroom. "He's not going to do that with me."

"Not going to do what?" Puck asked, looking back and forth between the two of them expectantly. He'd changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and aside from the shaved head, he looked exactly the way he had in high school. Kurt felt the radical juxtaposition of his two worlds like a fist in his gut.

"Never mind," he said. "I'm guessing you haven't eaten anything since before the auction."

Puck looked inexplicably guilty. "I guess I could use something to eat. You want me to go pick up a pizza or something?"

"I didn't eat pizza in high school, Puck, and I'm not going to do it here." Kurt gestured into the kitchenette. "I'll throw something together."

Puck didn't balk at the foods Kurt put in front of him, not even the beet, fennel and leek salad. He didn't look any more at ease when they were done, though; if anything, he looked even more nervous, staring across the table at Kurt. He cleared his throat.

"Kurt... I'm sorry about all this."

"Don't worry about it," Kurt said. "It's unexpected. I doubt we ever figured we'd see each other again, much less like this, but... it's okay. We have room for one more here. I promise I'll try to make these next six months as painless as possible. Then you can get on with your life."

Puck stared at the table, shaking his head. "No, Kurt; you might be stuck feeding me and giving me a place to crash, but I'm no freeloader. I'll earn my keep. I'll do whatever you need. I'm not much of a cook, but I made dinner enough times for my Ma while she was working late."

Kurt nodded slowly. "All right. And your idea about learning what I learn, that's not a bad one. You could come with me, and - watch. See what other slaves do, while I'm handling them. Etiquette, comportment, that sort of thing."

Puck watched him, looking a little wary. "You really think that'd be okay? I - I wouldn't be in the way, and I'm a quick learner. I won't let you down, I swear."

Kurt had to smile. "I believe you," he said, and to his surprise, he realized he was telling the truth.

Puck yawned enormously, covering his mouth too late. "Uh, sorry. It's been a long day."

Kurt pointed. "You can sleep on the couch for now. I wasn't really prepared to have... other people spending the night."

"Yeah, that's fine. No problem." Puck stood, stretched, and walked toward the couch. "Thanks, Kurt." He sank down, wrapping his arm around himself, his head on the small cushion, and closed his eyes. He looked impossibly small and helpless.

Kurt hesitated, feeling completely off balance. Puck wasn't a house guest. He wasn't even a  _friend._  But - Kurt thought, somehow, he needed someone to... what? Watch out for him? Wasn't that exactly what he'd contracted to do, after all?

He padded over to his bed and took one of the extra blankets from the cedar chest. After a moment, he also grabbed his second pillow. Then he returned to Puck. "Here," he said, lifting up his head. Puck's eyes flew open, and he looked up at Kurt in surprise. Kurt withdrew the scratchy cushion from under his head and dropped it on the floor, replacing it with the down pillow. He watched as Puck's eyes closed again, and he took a deep breath, rubbing his cheek against the fabric.

"Soft," he murmured. "Smells good."

Kurt swallowed his answer, and spread the blanket over Puck, smoothing the edges around his shoulders. Puck burrowed down inside, wrapping himself up into a little cocoon.

"I get up at six-thirty," Kurt said. "Shall I wake you after I'm done in the bathroom?"

"Yes, thank you, sir," Puck said, eyes closed, his voice already blurred with sleep.

Kurt sat there for longer than he would have admitted to anyone, watching Puck's breathing even out and his chest rise and fall. Then he returned to his bed, minus one pillow, turned out the light, and lay down to contemplate his next phone call to his father.

 _Well, Dad,_ it would go,  _I can't actually come home for Christmas this year. I have to take care of my slave._

_But you could bring him along. After all, he's from Lima, too. Convenient, that._

It was a long time before he slept, and when he did, his dreams were convoluted and macabre, involving an evil Sandy Ryerson with long claws that clutched at Puck as he tried to escape. Kurt stepped between his charge and the oncoming threat, but Puck was too far away, he couldn't get to him, there was something in the way. Kurt could just barely hear him, calling his name.

"Kurt... Kurt, wake up."

Kurt heard the panic, and sat up in a hurry, knocking heads with the person leaning over him. He heard Puck's grunt, and put his hand out, trying to make sense of what was happening. Puck was hovering just next to his bed. "Puck? What's wrong?"

"You forgot... I need..." He heard Puck take a shuddering breath. "The collar. You said... you had a c-collar for me."

In the dim light of the room, Kurt could barely see the outline of Puck's face, the silhouette of his cheek. He reached to touch it, and felt wetness there. His heart gave a little twanging thump.

"Yes," he said softly. "I have it. Just a moment, I'll get it for you."

Kurt reached out and switched on the lamp beside his bed. Puck turned away, wiping his face on his arm, and watched Kurt with hopeful, haunted eyes.

Kurt thought of the last time he'd been in a room, shirtless, with Noah Puckerman. It had been at the end of  _West Side Story,_  backstage, taking off their makeup. None of the kids had cared what state of undress anybody else was in after the high of the performance. Kurt had hung his Krupke jacket and shirt neatly on the hanger while Puck struggled out of his own costume, and when he'd looked over, Puck had been watching him with admiration.

 _Nice guns, Hummel,_  he'd said, flexing his own, and Kurt had just grinned, floating on a cloud of endorphins. That had been it, and Kurt hadn't thought anything more about it, not even in his own secret fantasies.

But now, here was Puck, and he wasn't flexing anything. He was sitting on Kurt's bed, tense and tear-stained, waiting for Kurt to soothe his fears. He expected Kurt to  _make it better._  Kurt wiped his wet hand on the blanket.

"Did you have a bad dream?" he asked.

Puck shook his head, staring at the floor. "Not exactly. Just -" He looked up at Kurt in desperation. He took a deep breath, and as he opened his mouth, words tumbled out, faster and more distorted with each phrase. "I need this. I need it, and please don't say I don't, because I  _do,_  and I haven't had it for so long, god, such a fucking long time, and I know it makes me weak but I can't apologize for it, I just -"

"No, no," Kurt said, keeping his voice calm, even as his mind was racing, "no, Puck, you're  _fine,_ you don't have to apologize. You're just fine." He reached out and took Puck's hand, holding it tight. "I told you I would give you my collar, and I will. You're my responsibility now."

Puck grasped Kurt's hand in both of his, like Puck was a drowning man and Kurt was the boat, towing him to shore. "I'm so sorry," he said. His face crumpled into confusion.

"Hush." Kurt gave his hands one more squeeze, then let go and turned to the drawer in his nightstand. There were things in there he never showed to anyone: some from his youth, some from high school, and some - like this one - that pointed the path to his future. He took it out now, held it in his hands. Then he unbuckled the silver clasp and put it around Puck's neck, fastening it securely. It didn't feel scary or wrong. Kurt left his hand on the collar for a long moment, stroking Puck's neck, feeling the strength there, knowing he could easily push Kurt's hand aside.

 _But he doesn't want to,_  Kurt marveled, watching Puck settle, seeing his shoulders drop and his breathing slow. Puck closed his eyes, and put up a hand to touch the collar, brushing his fingers against Kurt's. When he opened his eyes again, he was entirely calm.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Kurt licked dry lips. "You're welcome."

Puck rose, picking his way across the open warehouse room back to the couch. Kurt listened until he was sure Puck had made it there. Then he sighed at himself, shaking his head. As though there were dangerous, treacherous waters between his bed and Puck's. He made himself lie down and go back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt told Puck to stay at the apartment for his first day. "I have to talk to my trainer about the best course of action," he said, pouring a generous quantity of skim milk into his coffee. He added two packets of sugar and stirred it. "I'm still a little uncertain about the role you're going to play in my day to day life."

"Well, I'll just follow your lead... boss." He smirked at Kurt's expression. "Seriously, what the fuck should I call you, anyway? Kurt seems a little familiar; Mr. Hummel's your dad."

Kurt looked a little ill. "Yeah... well. You're probably expected to call me sir. I think that's pretty standard." He drew his focus down onto Puck. "I also think we're going to need to run our interactions as much by the book as possible, if you're going to get anything out of it. But there are still a lot of things I just  _don't know._  Is there anything you've been wondering that I can ask Cassie?"

Puck shrugged. "I'm just here to do what you tell me to do."

Kurt made a little choking noise, but he seemed cool and collected when Puck looked at him again. "I suppose I'll have to think it through, then," he said. He paused, considering, then opened his bag and took out his wallet. "You should get to know the neighborhood. We shop at Valerie Grocery, a half a block down Greene and right on Irving. Walk another block down and you'll hit Knickerbocker; there's plenty to see there." He pressed a key and a handful of bills into Puck's startled hand. "Don't spend it all in one place."

"Kurt, uh... I mean, sir... I don't know if I can - you're going to give me money?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm really not sure how we're going to get anything done otherwise. You really want to help out? Do the grocery shopping. There's a list on the fridge."

"I - okay." Without really thinking about it, Puck touched the collar around his neck, and Kurt's focus immediately went there.

"You'd better take that off when you go out," said Kurt. Puck's hand tightened possessively on the soft leather, and Kurt's expression changed a little, becoming more sympathetic. "Or - cover it up, or something. Take a winter scarf from the closet. It's cool enough you could probably get away with that."

"Yeah, good idea." He watched Kurt stand, head for the door, wishing he had more questions to ask, or something to say. "Uh... have a good day."

Kurt gave him an odd smile. "You, too." Then he seemed to think of something else, and took his phone out of his pocket. "What's your number?"

Puck gave it to him, and Kurt dialed it. "Text me if you need anything," he said, "or if anything comes up. I might not be able to answer right away, but I'll get it soon enough."

"Yes, sir," he said, mostly to watch Kurt's reaction. It didn't sound as weird as he expected it would. Kurt just blinked, shaking his head. "What?" added Puck.

"You, calling me that," Kurt murmured. "It's just... I can't imagine you could take it seriously, after all we've been through."

Puck remembered the vibration that had run through him when Kurt had taken his lead, and the way it had quieted when Kurt buckled the collar on him. "I'm not thinking about that now," Puck said honestly. "This  _is_  serious. Sir."

Kurt's eyes widened a fraction, but he didn't back away from the words. He considered Puck for a moment longer, then nodded. "I... believe you."

It wasn't until Kurt had already left that Puck realized he hadn't said whether  _he_  took this all seriously. But he supposed it wasn't all that surprising that Kurt wouldn't. Puck sank down onto the couch.  _I was kind of a joke in high school. It's not so different now._  But somehow it hurt, a lot more than the slushies and hours in the port-a-potty ever had.

It was several minutes before he got up, made himself look in the fridge and find something to eat. He tucked the grocery list in the same pocket as Kurt's money and the key, and was almost ready to head out the door before he realized it was only 7:35 in the morning, and the grocery store probably wouldn't even be open. Gritting his teeth, he cast around for something,  _anything_  to do to take his mind off of... what?

"I'm not useless," he said out loud, hearing the sound echo in the empty room, and went in search of cleaning supplies.

* * *

Three and a half hours, several rolls of paper toweling and a good amount of Lysol spray cleaner later, Puck sat sprawled at the kitchen table. He'd taken out the last bag of trash. Everything in the apartment was as clean as he could make it, even the tops of the really tall bookshelves. All surfaces had been scrubbed, dusted or wiped. He'd swept the floor and vacuumed the rugs. The bathroom actually fucking sparkled. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cleaned a toilet, but it hadn't been so bad, and it felt pretty good to see the apartment looking so spotless. Even if it wasn't his apartment.

 _But it is now,_  he reminded himself.  _For six months, anyway._

Then he went foraging for actual food, driven to hunger by activity. That felt good, too, to be hungry. Most of his physical activity over the past nine months had been exercise, keeping up his physical conditioning with the slaves in training, even if he hadn't actually been allowed to train with them. But there was something different, something rewarding, about working, about  _accomplishing_  something with his body. He kind of missed cleaning pools.

Puck walked the half a block to the grocery store, buying everything Rachel and Kurt had written on the list, along with an extra can of Lysol. He also found a bag of the type of coffee Kurt had made that morning; it had been running kind of low.

Even though he had nothing else to do, his feet took him back to the apartment instead of the other direction toward the shopping district. He had to put the groceries away, after all.

That had been half an hour ago. Now, here he was, alone in the apartment again, trying unsuccessfully not to freak out.

He took out his phone and dialed the number for the Anderson's brownstone, knowing Gail would be there to pick up. "Anderson residence," she said.

"I'm wearing his collar," Puck snapped. "I'm wearing somebody's fucking  _collar."_

Her voice was sympathetic. "Not what you expected, huh?"

"No," he said hoarsely. "It's better. But he - he went to training, and I'm home, and I've done everything he told me to do, and - and I have no idea what to do now."

"Did you do the laundry? Make the beds? There's always something to do, honey. You're just bored. You need a network; a community. Most slaves work in a house with at least a few other people. Either that, or they're spending so much of their time on duty, they don't have time to be lonely."

 _Lonely._  Puck gave a short laugh. "I know lonely. My whole fucking life I've been lonely. This is different, Gail. I don't know what it is, but I'm coming out of my skin. I feel like I'm going to burst into fucking tears. What the hell is wrong with me?"

There was a silence. "Call me later tonight and tell me how you're feeling then, and I'll have a better answer for you. In the meantime, do you want to come out here for lunch?"

Puck looked at the clock. It was barely past noon. Kurt wouldn't be home for hours, but still, he hesitated. "I don't want to miss him if he comes home early," he started, then stopped, running an exasperated hand over his head. "What the  _fuck,_  Gail?"

"All right," she said gently. "Give me your address, and let me see what I can do."

* * *

It took Cassie three seconds to look up from her clipboard, scowl at him and say, "Where's your slave?" for Kurt to realize he'd really done something wrong.

He'd had the sense, all the way in on the subway, that maybe he should have brought Puck along with him, even if he didn't know what his role would be. Leaving him at the apartment with no tasks, that seemed... cruel, somehow. He almost called Rachel two times on his walk up from the subway stop to have her go home and check on him, but her schedule was just as full as his was.

Now, staring into Cassie's face, feeling like a deer in headlights, he stammered out a pointless reply before turning around and heading back out the door.

" _Hummel._  Where the hell are you going?"

He stopped in the doorway, facing away from her, one trembling hand holding onto the frame to keep himself from falling over. "Cassie - something's wrong. This is  _all_  wrong."

She sighed, setting the clipboard down on her desk with a clatter, and took his shoulder, guiding him over to a chair. "Tell me what happened. All of it."

He had no idea where to start, so he began with when they left the auction. Cassie had some pointed questions about Puck's presence at the Brooklyn training house, but Kurt didn't know much more than she did. She stopped him when he told her about Puck waking him up and asking for the collar.

"He seemed okay after you put it on him?" she asked. He nodded. "And he didn't question you when you sent him back to the couch."

"I - no. I don't think I did send him back to the couch." Kurt paused, then added reluctantly, "There was a moment when... well, for a second I considered asking him to stay." He bit his lip, thinking of Rachel's offhand  _at the foot of your bed?_  comment. "Not for anything other than... to sleep, but..."

Cassie sighed heavily and regarded him over her folded hands. "I'm going to need to remind myself over and over that you don't know the things a fully trained owner knows. Kurt, you don't leave a pleasure slave alone. He's there to meet your needs, and you meet his by keeping him close to you. If it's easier, think of him as a housebroken puppy. With a few perks, I suspect, but that's up to you."

Kurt felt his face go scarlet as he winced. "Puck's straight." But he couldn't help think of the moment in the bathroom at the auction, when he'd felt Puck pressed against him. He'd been turned on, for whatever reason.  _And he likes your arms,_  his insane libido reminded him.

"When it comes to a slave and his owner, that's kind of irrelevant. He wants to please you. But that's not my point." She stood, glaring down at him. "You think this contract is worth the paper it's printed on if you can't take care of him? He  _needs_  you to -"

"To make it okay," Kurt breathed, eyes wide in shock. It was just what he'd thought last night. The anxiety roiled in his gut. "I have to go back. Right now."

She shook her head firmly. "You're not leaving these slaves here for me to deal with; they're here for you, after all. I'll get you out of training this afternoon, and tomorrow. You'll have plenty at home to keep you busy. And for god's sake, Hummel, you're going to have him with you pretty much nonstop for the next six months, so you'd better come up with a good cover story for the softworlders in your neighborhood. Cousin from another country usually works fine."

Kurt's heart wasn't precisely in his work today, even though one of the slaves was a really lovely blonde young man with heartbreakingly blue eyes. He surely would have enjoyed the lesson on flogging technique if he hadn't already been so distracted. As it was, the moment they stopped for lunch, he was up and out the door, pulling his coat on as he took the stairway two steps at a time.

The panic rose up inside his throat, inexplicable and relentless, driving him faster toward the subway. All he could see was Puck there on the couch, covered by the blanket, wrapped up, alone.  _He shouldn't be alone,_  he thought as he flew down the second set of stairs into the subway.

And of  _course_  the L train slowed and halted, halfway between Manhattan and Bushwick. Every person sighed and moaned as they announced a temporary mechanical error, and that passengers should exit the train and seek an alternate route. Kurt decided taking a cab might be better than running the remaining fourteen blocks, but it was a near thing.

But when he finally reached his own front step, he paused, staring up at the door. Now, here back at the apartment at last, his reaction seemed ridiculous, overblown, and completely unnecessary.  _Of course Puck is okay. He's a perfectly capable teenage boy. What makes you think he needs anything more from you?_

He unlocked the front door and made himself stop at the mailbox to pick up the mail, trying calm his racing heart before mounting the steps to their loft.  _He's fine,_  he repeated,  _he's just fine, it's not a big deal, he's -_

"Kurt?" Puck's voice wasn't panicked, but it was close to it, and as Kurt pushed the door open, Puck was right there, scrambling forward, reaching for Kurt's hand, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. Kurt reached for him, and their hands collided, grasping, fastening on one another. With a helpless moan, Puck stumbled, and Kurt caught him in his arms without even thinking about it.

"Shhh," he whispered, holding his trembling body close. "You're okay now. I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

"Holy fuck, Kurt," Puck whimpered, and ducked his head closer against Kurt's chest, curling up into a tight little ball. "What  _is_  this? What the fuck is going on with me?"

"It's - the way things are, I think," Kurt said. He sighed. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea -"

" _You're_  sorry?" Puck pulled back far enough to stare Kurt full in the face, shaking his head. "You didn't do anything. I'm the one freaking out, and I've only been alone for five hours."

Kurt had to smile. "Trust me, you're not the only one freaking out. I knew something was wrong hours ago, but I couldn't leave any sooner." Even standing next to him wasn't close enough, and he gathered him back into his arms, feeling Puck lean into his body, accepting Kurt's bizarre embrace without question. "You're my responsibility, and I shouldn't have left you home alone."

"I was okay. For a while, anyway." Puck huffed in annoyance. "What a fucking joke. I wasn't at  _all_  okay."

"I know," said Kurt. "I know you weren't. I know better now. I won't do it again."

He felt Puck's relieved sigh. "The collar... I didn't take it off."

"Good." Kurt tightened his arms. "Don't. I'll get you some scarves and turtlenecks. They're not really in fashion, but I'm sure you can pull them off."

"Yes, sir."

Eventually Kurt set his bag down. He took Puck by the hand and led him into the kitchen, glancing around. Then he paused and looked more closely. "You - cleaned?"

"Yeah." Puck leaned against the table, frowning self-consciously. "What the hell else was I supposed to do? And I did the shopping."

The  _thank you_  was just behind his lips, but Kurt hesitated before speaking it, and added, equally self-consciously, "Good boy."

Now it was Puck's turn to flush, grinning. "Yeah, I felt really stupid, but you told me to, so... I had to. And when I was done, I felt better, but then there was nothing else to do, and I just... I called Gail, and she - oh."

"Gail?" Kurt paused in looking in the fridge, glancing back at Puck. "Who's Gail?"

"The housekeeper at the Anderson's training house. She's on her way over; I called her when I was freaking out. I should call her back and tell her not to bother."

"No, no," Kurt assured him, "it's fine." Part of him was feeling ridiculously protective of Puck, and the rest of him was glad for an excuse not to have his strong, muscular body pressed up against him. Kurt was only human, after all. And gay.

Gail arrived a few minutes later, carrying a large cooler and a six-pack of good beer. "Oh, forgive me," she said to Kurt, blinking, when he opened the door. "I didn't realize Puck had company."

"I'm Kurt Hummel," he said, taking the cooler and shaking her hand. "Puck's... uh. Puck's owner. In training."

"Of course. He mentioned he wasn't sure when you would be home." She turned to Puck, looking him up and down, and nodded, looking thoughtful. "You look better now."

"Yeah," he muttered, looking away. Gail smiled, setting the six-pack on the table.

"Well, let me take this opportunity to feed you both, and perhaps answer some questions you might have. I'm not a trained slave, but I've seen my share come through the house, and heard plenty." She handed each of them a beer. "First of all, you're not insane, and yes, it's all real."

"What is?" Kurt asked, letting Puck open his beer for him.

"The drive to be together." Gail shook her head as Puck offered her one of the beers. "Those are for the two of you. You really shouldn't leave the house for the rest of the night."

Puck glanced at Kurt, his face incomprehensibly red. "Why not?"

"Because you're going to be exhausted and stressed after being apart all morning. You'll be fine, but it's going to be intense, and it'd be better if you could stay touching for the next twenty-four hours or so."

"You have a logical explanation for this?" asked Puck.

She shrugged, looking sanguine. "You have an explanation for any kind of attraction? This is just more. It's almost always this way between a pleasure slave and his owner. You want an explanation, you'll have to ask Imala Anderson, but it probably wouldn't clarify things much. I don't believe in any of that hocus-pocus, but I do believe in what I see and hear. And the two of you have it. I had to see Puck to be sure."

It was a nice lunch spread, but Gail stood halfway through the salad, nodding at Kurt. "I have to head back; I'm on duty for the rest of the afternoon. Puck, you owe me a lunch when your contract is up. Kurt, it's very good to meet you."

"Likewise," he said, smiling and shaking her hand. "I'm sure we'll see you before then."

"Maybe," she said cryptically. "Take care of him, young man." She reached over and kissed Puck's cheek, making him grin. "Be good."

"Fat chance," said Puck. He followed her to the door, closing it, and then turned and leaned heavily on it, closing his eyes with a sigh. Then he opened them again, gazing at Kurt. "Well..."

"Well," Kurt echoed, and paused, seeing the uncertainty on his face. He reached out and took his hand. It felt more right than Kurt knew what to do with. "I vote for movie marathon, if we're going to be home all day. You know how to make popcorn?"

* * *

They were still on the couch when Rachel got home. Puck watched Kurt for cues, and wasn't surprised when Kurt moved out of the near-spoon they'd been in for the past hour. "We should let Rachel pick the next one," Kurt said, stretching and yawning. "God, how can I be tired when we haven't done anything all afternoon?"

"You're not the only one." Puck gave Rachel a little wave as she came through the door. She smiled, rushing in, waving her phone.

"Boys," she exclaimed, pressing her hands together, "guess who's coming to visit next month? Finn's taking a week off working at the garage!"

"Oh," Kurt said. His smile was a little more weak. "That's... so nice, Rachel."

"Now, you don't have to worry about a thing," she said to Puck, touching his arm. "This isn't going to be a big deal. He's a lot more open-minded than he seems."

Puck grinned at them. "Dude. Finn knows all about me. He was the one who told me I should move to New York in the first place, join the Marketplace out here. When he didn't get into that acting school, I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I just came out on my own."

He enjoyed watching the expression on Rachel's face, but Kurt's surprise just made him want to move in close and snuggle him again, so he tried to distract himself by getting the vegan chicken and potatoes out of the fridge. "Sorry, Rach, if you had your heart set on cooking; I think I'm on duty until further notice. But you get to pick the next movie. Anything except West Side Story,  _god,_  okay?"

"The next movie?" asked Rachel. "Kurt, I thought you had training today. And wow, the house is so  _clean!_ "

Kurt distracted her with popcorn and  _Grease,_  then came back into the kitchen to stand close to Puck, one hand resting casually on his back. They both exhaled their relief. "God, Kurt," Puck said under his breath. "How am I going to hide this from Rachel? From  _Finn?_  I can barely keep my hands off you. It's going to look like we're -"

"I know," Kurt replied, equally low. "I'll think about it, and I'll figure it out. Don't worry. This is going to be your home too, and - it'll be fine."

Puck breathed into the words, the certainty he felt when Kurt spoke. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

They managed to make the rest of the evening work with Kurt sitting on the very edge of the couch and Puck on the floor in front of him, Kurt's folded legs wedged against Puck's neck. It wasn't the same sensation of complete satisfaction that he'd experienced when the two of them had been wrapped up together that afternoon, but it was good enough.

Puck nodded off a few times sitting there, holding the bowl of popcorn, but eventually Rachel stood and yawned, bidding them good night. Puck waited until she'd drawn the curtain to her sleeping space before moving to sit beside Kurt on the couch. He reached for Kurt's hand, holding it tight.

"You're not sleeping on the couch tonight," Kurt said.

"No, sir," Puck agreed. "I don't think I could, anyway."

Kurt looked like he might want to say something else, but he just nodded. "I'm going to start my moisturizing routine, but you can come in any time, if you need... anything."

Puck understood.  _If you need to touch me._  He nodded too. "I might... sit next to you, while you do that, and play a little guitar?"

Kurt smiled, looking surprised. "That sounds really nice. Yes, I'd like that."

Puck felt a glowing warmth travel through his midsection and into his limbs, burning like coal.  _I made him happy._ It was the most amazing sensation, better than any drug he'd ever taken, rivaling the best sexual afterglow he could remember. Something must have shown on his face, because Kurt flushed, looking away, but he was still smiling.

Puck brushed his teeth and took a quick shower, figuring Kurt didn't need to smell him all night if they were going to be sharing a bed. When he tiptoed into Kurt's curtained bedroom with his guitar, he found him seated at a little table with a mirror, removing cream from beneath his eyes with tissues.

Kurt nodded at the floor, where a pillow sat on the rug. Puck unlatched his guitar case and took the Gibson out, tuning the strings. It had been weeks since he'd played anything, but if he could get Kurt to smile like that, he thought he might play every night. He hesitated.

"Is there... anything else you need, sir?"

Kurt gazed at him thoughtfully. Then he smiled. "A glass of water would be lovely, thank you."

Puck set the guitar on the bed and darted back to the kitchen, carefully making his way through the darkened room to the sink. He looked at Rachel's closed curtain as he walked back with the full glass. If she'd been the one to sign his contract, would he be feeling this way about her? Would he be anticipating her needs, aching to do anything to make her smile? Would he be desperate to be touched by her, and when they weren't in contact, would he be waiting longingly for her to touch him again? He figured he'd never know, and probably it didn't matter too much.

But - would it have been this way if Sandy Ryerson had signed his contract? He felt his lip curl as he pushed the curtain aside. Kurt regarded him with concern.

"What is it, Puck?" he asked sharply.

Puck handed him the water. "Nothing. I was just thinking about Ryerson, and... what it would have been like, if you hadn't been there. A lot longer than six months, like this, with him..." He shuddered. Kurt reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"You never have to worry about that happening," Kurt said. It sounded like a lot more than an idle comment. Puck thought he might be making a kind of promise. He swallowed feeling a little faint.

"Thank you, sir," he said. He settled beside Kurt on the cushion, picking up his guitar, and strummed quietly before resting his head against Kurt's side. "Anything you want me to play?"

Kurt thought for a moment. "You sang that Billy Joel song junior year," he said. "Know any more?"

"Do I know any more Billy Joel," he scoffed. Puck cycled through several of his hits before settling on one that seemed appropriate.

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OKhE-2tOaE0>

_Some love is just a lie of the heart  
_ _The cold remains of what began with a passionate start  
_ _And they may not want it to end  
_ _But it will it's just a question of when_

 _I've lived long enough to have learned  
_ _The closer you get to the fire the more you get burned  
_ _But that won't happen to us  
_ _Because it's always been a matter of trust_

He couldn't see Kurt's face from where he sat, but Puck could feel Kurt listening, being attentive to the lyrics. Kurt always took music seriously, and Puck appreciated that. He was a hell of a musician, too. It had been fun, watching those movies with Kurt, singing along to the songs they knew, making harmony. He'd never done that with Quinn or Lauren, and now he wondered why he hadn't.

 _I know you're an emotional girl  
_ _It took a lot for you to not lose your faith in this world  
_ _I can't offer you proof  
_ _But you're going to face a moment of truth_

 _It's hard when you're always afraid  
_ _You just recover when another belief is betrayed  
_ _So break my heart of you must  
_ _It's a matter of trust_

 _You can't go the distance  
_ _With too much resistance  
_ _I know you have doubts  
_ _But for God's sake don't shut me out_

He tried to keep it quiet, for Rachel's sake, to sing it more like a ballad than the rock song it was, but he couldn't keep from putting some emotion into the words. Billy Joel was an emotional guy, after all. He knew Kurt would understand that.

 _This time you've got nothing to lose  
_ _You can take it, you can leave it  
_ _Whatever you choose  
_ _I won't hold back anything  
_ _And I'll walk away a fool or a king_

 _Some love is just a lie of the mind  
_ _It's make believe until its only a matter of time  
_ _And some might have learned to adjust  
_ _But then it never was a matter of trust_

 _I'm sure you're aware, love  
_ _We've both had our share of  
_ _Believing too long  
_ _When the whole situation was wrong_

It had been like that with Lauren. Even when he knew it wasn't good anymore, though, he wasn't able to let go of her. She gave him something he needed, desperately, even though she'd never given him a collar or anything like that. It had been so good... until it wasn't anymore. And then she'd left, and he'd been crushed, but a tiny bit relieved, too.

 _Some love is just a lie of the soul  
_ _A constant battle for the ultimate state of control  
_ _After you've heard lie upon lie  
_ _There can hardly be a question of why_

 _Some love is just a lie of the heart  
_ _The cold remains of what began with a passionate start  
_ _But that can't happen to us  
_ _Because it's always been a matter of trust_

Somewhere around the middle of the song, Kurt's hand had come down on Puck's neck, resting on the muscle that connected it to his shoulder. He gave it a little squeeze when Puck sang  _ultimate state of control._ It sent a shiver through Puck, to think of Kurt  _in control_. Because, of course, he was. Yeah, Puck's fantasies since junior high had involved people being  _in control,_  but somehow he'd never thought of Kurt like that. Well, he sure as hell was now.

Kurt sighed when the song concluded. "That was... really amazing." Kurt sounded both pleased and sad, and Puck looked up at him to determine the source of the latter. Kurt met his eyes, then looked away. "Nobody's sang to me since Blaine broke up with me."

Puck hesitated. "The two of you... did you do... this?"

"Nothing like this." Kurt set his jar of cream down on the table, leaning on his arm, lost in memories. "I wanted to, but... he didn't. He tried, but it wasn't for him. And he knew it was for me, so... he broke up with me."

"I get that," Puck said, nodding. He set the guitar back into its case, then returned to his spot on the floor. "Lauren set me free last summer. It wasn't because she didn't want what we were doing, but..."

"Wait - you and Lauren? You were her - what?" He could see the wheels turning. "Lauren's an Owner in the Marketplace?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We were too young, of course. She knew stuff, though. Her family, they're involved. That's her grand-aunt, Imala Anderson."

Kurt nodded slowly, taking it in. Kurt never got thrown for long; he was smart. He could put two and two together. "She got you a place there. But why didn't you get training?"

Puck shrugged. It was his turn to look away. "Guess I wasn't good enough."

He resisted Kurt's touch on his jaw for just a few seconds before giving in. Kurt held his face firmly in place, his mouth tightening. "No, Puck. That's  _not_  true. You're good enough. You... you're so good."

Puck held his breath, letting the words settle over him, saturating him with possibility.  _I'm good enough. I'm so good._  "Thank you, sir," he said.

It was just a momentary caress, but Puck felt Kurt's hand brush his head, and he leaned into it, into Kurt's hand, holding him up. Kurt let out a sharp breath, a faint sound, like  _Oh._

"We should... go to bed," he said, sounding distant. "Turn off the light, please."

"Yes, sir," he said, rising to his feet. Kurt climbed in on the right side of the bed, still in his pajama pants and t-shirt. Puck paused, watching him. "Do you - should I, uh... where do you want me?"

Kurt only looked a little pink as he said, "As close as you're willing to get."

 _God,_  Puck thought, folding back the covers and climbing underneath. He settled himself carefully against Kurt's side, lying on his back so that the length of their bodies connected: feet, knees, thighs, shoulders. He carefully left the front part of his body untouched, figuring Kurt would want to be really fucking clear with him that he wanted  _that_  before Puck did anything. He turned his head toward Kurt, their faces only inches apart. "How's this?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "Good. That's... good. Thank you."

"Yes, sir." Then Puck had a thought. "You do know I want this as much as you do, don't you?"

Kurt was startled into opening his eyes again. "What do you mean? I mean... how do you know?"

"I guess I don't. But I want it an awful fucking lot. I could barely go to the kitchen to get that glass of water without asking you to come along."

Kurt laughed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. "Yeah. It did feel like you were gone a long time when you went to take that shower."

"Well, next time you can... uh." Puck bit back his flirtatious suggestion. Not because he didn't want it, but because it just felt so inappropriate to make it to somebody he called  _sir_. "I guess we'll get used to it? Gail said it would get easier."

"I hope so. You're not coming with me into the john."

Puck giggled. "Yeah. That'd be hard to explain.  _Sorry, my slave and I are joined at the hip. We're not doing anything kinky in that stall, I swear."_

Kurt stifled his laugh against Puck's shoulder. "God. I was thinking last night about what it would be like to go home with you for Christmas. My dad's never going to believe we're not lovers."

"Well, it's as good a cover story as any," Puck said.

He heard the silence loud in the room. Kurt shifted the covers. "You... wouldn't care? If people thought you were...?"

"Gay?" Puck shrugged. "People can think whatever the fuck they want about me. The truth would probably freak them out more anyway."

"True," Kurt agreed. "Well... that would make things easier." He brushed Puck's collar with his fingertips. Puck felt the touch in all kinds of places in his body, but he tried to keep very still, only shivering a little. "And this, we'll just disguise. You won't take it off."

"No, sir," Puck said. "Thank you, sir."

"I have another day off tomorrow. Then the next day, you'll come with me to my training session. Cassie will figure out something for you to do, but you'll still be with me all day."

Puck felt the calm descend, and he closed his eyes. "That sounds perfect, sir."

"Yes." He felt Kurt's knuckles brush his. "It really does."

Puck slept hard, waking only once in the night when Kurt rolled against him and threw a leg over both of his. There was no question that Kurt wanted something from him, judging by the tent he was pitching, but Puck knew equally well that Kurt was asleep, and he wasn't going to take advantage of him like that. He gently extracted himself from Kurt's amorous embrace and stayed close enough for their feet to touch. It would have to be enough until morning.

When Puck woke the second time, it was still dark, but the clock said 6:45. Kurt was absent from the bed, though his side of the bed was still warm. Puck rolled over into the warm spot, burying his nose into Kurt's incredibly soft pillow and inhaling his scent.

"This love affair with my pillow is getting more serious," he heard, looking up to see Kurt wearing a dark blue robe and toweling his hair dry. He wore an amused smile, and he appeared a hundred times more relaxed than he had the day before.

"Yeah, watch out, we might run off together." He sat up, hugging the pillow to his chest, pretending to make out with it. Kurt snorted with laughter. Then he came over and put his hand on Puck's head. Puck felt his own stillness, deep inside.

"I don't think I have to worry about that," Kurt said, still smiling. "You're mine, after all."

Puck had no words, but luckily, Kurt didn't seem to need any. He leaned his head against Kurt's stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the gentle pressure of his hand. It was as close to perfect as he'd ever felt.

He climbed out of bed before the temptation to pull Kurt back in with him got overwhelming. "I'll make breakfast," he said. "Does Berry eat that fake bacon?"


	4. Chapter 4

After Rachel left, they were left sitting across the breakfast table from one another. It didn't feel awkward, exactly, but Kurt wasn't sure he was prepared to sit through another movie marathon with Puck plastered against him. This morning's solo round in the shower had been more than a little urgent. Kurt couldn't even pretend it hadn't been fueled by Puck's non-comment about showering with him.

"Okay," he said. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to have... a day out together."

"A day out?" echoed Puck.

"Yes. If you're serious about being okay with our cover story being us, as boyfriends..." He raised an eyebrow at Puck, who nodded. "Then we have to try it out, and see if we can be convincing. As boyfriends."

"Got it." Puck took the breakfast dishes and deposited them in the sink, running water over them. "You got any plans for our first date, sir?"

"Shopping on Knickerbocker," Kurt decided, "and lunch at 255. And then maybe a movie at the Bushwick Starr? We'll have to see what's playing, but it's only a ten minute walk west of here."

"Sounds fine," Puck said. His smile was friendly, almost too relaxed. Almost like he'd forgotten he was the  _slave_  in this equation. Kurt had a sudden urge to force him up against the wall and -

 _And what?_  Maybe he needed another solo round before they left, just to be sure he didn't do anything inappropriate with his pretend boyfriend. Kurt sighed to himself and tried a different tactic. "Great. Before we go, do the dishes. And... I'll show you the way I like my laundry done."

"Thank you, sir." That was better, both the actual words and the tone in which they were spoken. Kurt knew from his training that slaves preferred to be given orders rather than choices, but it was still against his own rearing to tell instead of ask. It did seem to work on Puck, though. He came up behind Puck and put his hands on his back, feeling the tension in both of them ease at the contact. Puck turned from the sink, his hands wet, and the expression on his face made Kurt catch his breath.

"Towel," he murmured, holding up his hands. Kurt silently reached over and took the one hanging in front of the stove, and dried off Puck's hands one at a time. Then he slid his arms around Puck's back, encouraging him to do the same. They were nearly the same height, Kurt maybe a fraction taller, and this felt remarkably, almost dangerously intimate. Which was a little silly, considering they'd slept in the same bed last night.

"You're so  _warm,"_  Kurt whispered, and Puck chuckled.

"I run hot, sir," he said into Kurt's ear. Kurt shivered. "Don't tell me you're cold?"

"Not - exactly." Kurt made himself take a step back, holding Puck by the shoulders. "You can call me sir when no one's around, but when they are, you should call me Kurt."

"Kurt. Sure." Puck grinned. "Or can I call you something stupid, like... Buttercup?"

" _No,"_  Kurt said severely, and Puck laughed. "Seriously, try it and see what happens. It won't be pleasant."

His smile slid into something more sly. "Really, sir."

 _No. I'm not going to play that game._ Kurt stared Puck in the eye until his smile faded away, leaving only uncertainty behind. "Really," he said. He knew his face was probably just as red as Puck's, but he wasn't going to back down.

Puck tried glaring, but even that was quashed under Kurt's relentless gaze. "Jeez, Kurt," Puck muttered, dropping his eyes to the floor. "I was just teasing, like I would do with anybody."

"I'm not just anybody," Kurt pointed out. "For the next six months, anyway. You're going to need to be good, with me."

Puck cast him a desperate glance. "I - don't know how to be any other way."

Kurt moved in closer to Puck, pressing against his body and running his fingers down the side of his face. Puck looked startled, but not disgusted, which Kurt took as success. He cocked his head and smirked. "You're telling me you need me to discipline you for being a bad boy?"

Puck went rigid under his hand. "I - uh... Kurt..."

"Call me sir," Kurt whispered, his hand moving down to rest on the small of Puck's back.

"Sir," Puck replied immediately, but he wasn't relaxing.

"Maybe you want me to treat you like you're a bad boy? Make you beg? Tie you up? Give you a paddling you wouldn't forget?"

Puck closed his eyes and swallowed. "Oh god."

Kurt immediately switched back to his normal tone of voice, and dropped his hand. "I didn't think so," he said flatly. "I don't play those games. And neither will you. That's not why we're here. I'm not pretending."

Puck's eyes flew open. "I'm not either!"

"No, but you seem fine with treating it like a game whenever you want. I'm not your friend. I'm your  _owner._  Don't make the respect into a joke. Show me you mean it. And no sarcasm or witty remarks, or I really will paddle you - and I promise you, you won't enjoy it."

"Don't bet on it, sir," Puck muttered, but Kurt saw the expression on his face, and he knew Puck had heard him.

Kurt put his hands on his hips. "Are you going to behave yourself?"

"Yeah," Puck said quietly. "Sir."

"All right." Kurt reached out his hand, and Puck took it without hesitation. "Then - let's go shopping."

* * *

Puck actually had a lot more fun going shopping with Kurt than he expected he would. He couldn't deny Kurt had excellent, if creative, tastes. That meant any store, mens' or womens', was fair game.  _He's not going to be hemmed in by something as simple as gender, either,_  Puck thought, watching Kurt with admiration while he tried on a richly patterned red and white scarf.

"You look really good in that," Puck decided, leaning against the wall.

Kurt looked pleased by the compliment, smoothing the edges along his chest. "Thank you. That's a very boyfriend-like thing to say."

"It's just true, sir," he said, shrugging. "You should get it. I mean..." He looked uncomfortable suddenly, fiddling with his collar. "I'd buy it for you, if I had any money."

Kurt laughed, and touched Puck on the shoulder. "I'm not asking you to buy me things. That's not why we're here. I just like to shop. I'd dress  _you_  up, too."

"Okay. You could do that."

"Really." Kurt grinned, looking Puck with a critical eye. "I can choose what I think would look good on you? No t-shirts and jeans."

"Really." Puck opened his arms. "I'm all yours."

Kurt was momentarily at a loss for words. Puck leaned in with a little smile. "I mean, I am, right?"

"Yeah," Kurt said softly. "Okay. But not here. As much as a scarf like this would hide - certain accessories - I don't think it's going to be your best look. Come on."

Kurt was familiar with his shopping district, that was for sure. Each shop they went into, he seemed to know just what he'd find there. Puck had worn suits a couple of times for Glee, tuxedos for special events, but this wasn't like that. Kurt browsed dozens of racks of shirts, vests, pants and jackets - things he never would have considered wearing alone, let alone pairing together - and managed to make everything work. The shirt was even high enough in the neck to hide his collar.

"Damn," Puck said, nodding at himself in the mirror, posing. "I look  _good."_

"It's all khaki this season." Kurt made a face and smoothed one of the pockets on Puck's blazer. "Pockets and linen. What are we, on safari? Anyway." He smiled brightly at Puck. "You do look good in those fitted sleeves."

Puck felt a flush of pleasure at Kurt's comment. The impulse to touch him was almost too strong to resist. But then he thought,  _why should I resist? If we're pretending to be boyfriends, it doesn't matter what anybody thinks._ He put his arms around Kurt right there in the middle of the boutique. He heard Kurt's surprised breath even as they both relaxed into the incredible calming pleasure of contact.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered, close enough so no one else could hear.

"Well." Kurt's hands tightened around his back. "A boy has to have his own style, but yours needed a little assistance." Then, after a moment, he added, "How are you doing?"

"Better when I'm touching you," Puck said honestly. "Sorry."

"No, it's... it's okay." Kurt gave his back one more squeeze, then moved away. The store employees barely acknowledged their physicality, although one of them gave them a wide smile when they brought their purchases up to the counter.

Puck leaned over to Kurt. "That one is checking us out, big time. You think he's gay?"

"Could be," Kurt said, shrugging. "Or possibly they work on commission and he's excited about making this sale."

He couldn't keep from peeking into the bag as they walked out the door. Kurt watched him with curious amusement. "I'm pretty sure everything is still in there."

Puck grinned. "I know, it's just - I don't think I can remember the last time anybody bought me something.

"Oh." Now Kurt was silent. He looked a little anxious. "It's okay, right?"

"It's a little weird, sir," Puck admitted. "It's good, though. I like the clothes. I just feel bad that you're having to spend your money on me. I don't think I want to know how much you just spent in there."

"You're probably right. But - Puck, don't feel bad. I told you this was fun for me. I get to be in charge, and you get to look fantastic. Win-win." Kurt took his arm companionably, leading him down the sidewalk.

They walked without talking for a few minutes, the pedestrian traffic of Kurt's Bushwick neighborhood passing without commenting on two young men walking close together. Even though he'd heard New York was like that, it still was a surprise to Puck to feel so invisible while committing what seemed like a radical act.

"This is still kind of freaking me out," Puck said. "This thing. When I touch you..." He trailed off.

"What does it feel like to you?" Kurt prompted.

"Um. Good. Like,  _really_  good. I feel calm, but in an intense way, like I just took a hit of strong weed." He glanced over at Kurt. "You... probably don't know what that's like. Well, uh, like... when you come really hard, then. You do know what  _that's_ -?"

"Yes, Puck, I know. I admit, this is... an incredible rush." Kurt shifted his hold on Puck's arm to his hand, and they let out simultaneous sighs. He laughed. "It seems to be more intense when our skin is touching."

Puck decided not to mention that morning, when he'd awakened to find Kurt wound around his leg. There was no reason to embarrass him. "Yeah. It feels so good... I guess it can't be a bad thing, can it, sir?"

Kurt didn't answer for a long moment. They crossed the street at the Montrose subway stop to the restaurant.

"Not a bad thing," Kurt said slowly. "But... I don't know. I don't trust it. It does feel like a drug. I'm not sure if that's healthy. I don't like being at the whim of chemicals, even if they're naturally produced."

Puck didn't quite see how it was different from being scared or happy or any other emotion, but he nodded anyway. "I'm not sure if there's anything we can do about it now, sir."

"Yeah." Kurt sighed. "I'm not either, but I'm going to try to find out more. Gail was right about this being exhausting. I think after lunch I'm going to need a nap, if you don't mind skipping the movie."

"No, sir," said Puck. "Food and a nap sounds about my speed right now."

There were other things on his mind besides food and sleep, things that apparently involved Kurt and possibly himself doing some of that  _coming really hard,_  but he wasn't sure how to bring it up. For one thing, it had been a while since he'd done any of that stuff with a guy. For another, no matter what kind of middle-of-the-night urges Kurt was having, he hadn't shown any sign of wanting to do it with Puck. He knew a slave couldn't count on his owner wanting sex with him, anyway. And he thought he knew why Kurt wouldn't want it with him.

 _He doesn't do casual,_  thought Puck glumly.  _And that's all I've got to give him: casual. I learned my lesson about getting my heart involved in stuff like this._

* * *

Kurt watched Puck eating his lunch. Their ankles brushed under the table, the contact of their legs enough to stave off the worst urges. Even so, if Kurt could have encouraged Puck to sit right on his chair with him, he would have done it.  _Or on my lap,_  he thought with dismay.  _Oh, no, that's not sexual at all. What the hell am I going to do about this?_

"Would you excuse me, please?" Kurt said politely, rising from the table. Puck watched him walk away with barely disguised anxiety. "I'll be right back. Go ahead and finish your sandwich."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Cassie, hoping she would be willing to pick up between morning and afternoon classes. He was in luck.

"Coming up for air, Hummel?" She sounded just as caustic as ever. "You appear to have survived your first twenty-four hours contracting a pleasure slave. There are owners who can't even handle that, so at least you're not a complete failure."

"Yeah. Thanks. We're doing all right, but I'm feeling... a strong conflict here."

"Regarding?"

He turned to face the wall, trying not to let the other restaurant patrons hear. "Regarding sex."

She sighed. "Kurt. What does  _owner_  mean to you? It means you get to do whatever you want. He already agreed to it. He wants you to be in charge. You're a moral and rational person, and you can make good decisions on your own. Why are you waffling about this?"

"Because he's  _straight,_  Cassie." He could barely get the words out through clenched teeth. "Whatever's happening to him right now... it's like there's - a  _spell_  over him. He might think he wants to please me, but - I can't in good conscience tell him to do something I know he doesn't really want."

"Are you telling me you think he does want it, right now?"

Kurt saw all the moments between them over the past two days, flickering over his awareness like slides in a projector: Puck clutching him in an embrace; Puck playing guitar at his feet; Puck almost suggesting they shower together; Puck on his knees, looking up at Kurt through his eyelashes. He closed his eyes, but the images were still there. "Yes. I'm pretty sure he does. And - I can't take advantage of him when he's like that. Not when -"

"So he might not want it in six months. Does that mean you can't meet his needs right now?"

"It wouldn't be for  _him,"_  he whispered. "It'd be for me. Selfish."

"Be selfish, Kurt," she replied with more than a little irritation. "It's what he  _wants._  Take it from him. He asked for it. He's begging for it."

Kurt couldn't explain to Cassie what he was afraid of. He couldn't say  _I don't want this,_  either. In the end, he wasn't sure if he decided it was the most reasonable course of action, or if he simply gave up fighting. "All right. I'll give it a try."

"You're being a pussy Dom, Kurt. Come on. Man up. Take care of your boy. Tell him to make you come so hard your eyes bleed. He's a pleasure slave - he's there to  _give you what you want._  I think he's pretty clear about what that includes." He heard the sound of a door slamming. "I'll see you two tomorrow, bright and early, no matter how little sleep you get tonight." Then silence. Cassie had hung up.

Kurt turned around and stared across the restaurant at Puck, sitting at the table alone, glancing around restlessly. He didn't need to be wearing his new clothes for Kurt to find him attractive, but then, after years of dreams and fantasies about being in control of a young man, he wasn't feeling very picky. This was his chance to get what he'd always wanted, from a person who was desperate to touch him - and who would willingly do anything Kurt told him to do.

 _Why does it feel so unfair,_  he thought with a rush of bitter desire,  _that that person is Noah Puckerman?_

Kurt paid the bill and waited by Puck's chair while he finished the last bite of his sandwich. "You're going to need to come home now."

"Sir," Puck replied, scrambling up from his chair with a start. "I - why? What did I do?"

Kurt felt the adrenaline surging into him, driving his actions. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. "It's not what you did. It's what you haven't done. There's something I require before we take a nap. I don't think I can sleep in a bed with you again until we take care of this matter."

If Kurt hadn't been so conflicted, he might have enjoyed the stricken look on Puck's face. But even he couldn't allow Puck to think he'd done something wrong for long. He took his hand, shaking his head gently.

"Please don't worry, Puck," said Kurt. "You're such a good boy. I know you would do anything I asked of you. I'll show you just what I'm talking about when we get back to the apartment. Don't forget your bag."

Puck followed him down the block with the most heartbreakingly confused expression, trailing a couple steps behind Kurt. Finally Kurt stopped and held out his hand, waiting until Puck took it to keep walking.

"You're sure I didn't do anything wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Kurt agreed, squeezing his hand. "You were a perfect pretend boyfriend. I had an excellent morning."

"Yeah?" Puck gave him a remarkably endearing little grin. It made Kurt's stomach do crazy things. As though walking wasn't difficult enough already, considering he was hard enough to cut glass.

"I promise," he said.

Puck fell silent again, his brow knitted into a line. It wasn't until they got to Kurt's front step that he burst out, "Look, I really don't think you can keep me from sleeping in your bed with you."

"Puck," Kurt began, unlocking the front door, but Puck wasn't stopping.

"It's not that I wouldn't sleep wherever you tell me to, but I'm pretty sure in the middle of the night I'm going to have to end up next to you, because, god, sir, I don't think I have that much self control." He followed Kurt up the steps, pleading with his eyes as much as his words. It was a heady combination. Kurt considered telling Puck to get down on his knees and keep talking to him like that.  _It might be enough to do the trick,_  he thought dizzily.

"Puck," Kurt said again. He jiggled his keys in the deadbolt.

"So, really, whatever I didn't do, if you can please think of some other punishment, because I honestly don't think that one's going to work, unless you t-tie me up before bed -"

" _Noah Puckerman."_  That stopped him in his tracks, his eyes wide. Kurt reached out and unwound the knit scarf from his neck, revealing the Dior Grey collar. He looped a finger through it and hauled Puck backwards through the door. Puck staggered, gasping as Kurt kicked the door closed, pushed Puck up against the back of it with his body and held him there, standing nose to nose. "You can stop talking now."

Puck closed his mouth. Kurt touched his lips with two fingers, tracing their contours, watching them tremble. It was possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

"I want your mouth on me," he whispered.

Kurt felt Puck's warm breath on his fingers as he moaned. He shifted his body to one side and pushed his erection against Puck's hip. He didn't quite dare to put his own hand on Puck to find out if he was hard, too, because there was a big difference between making your slave do what you wanted and expecting them to enjoy it. Kurt didn't think he could handle finding out if he was or he wasn't.

"Come here." He took Puck's hand and led him over to his bed, drawing the curtain. Rachel wouldn't be home for hours, but he wasn't going to chance her coming home and finding Puck...  _serving_  him. HIs own heartbeat did a two-step at that idea.  _God._

Puck seemed to be in a kind of trance, following Kurt with his eyes, his mouth hanging open and his shoulders slack. When Kurt went to unbutton his skinny jeans, Puck zeroed in on his hands, watching him shimmy out of them in fascinated silence.

 _You are not going to feel guilty about this,_  Kurt told himself firmly, coaxing Puck onto the bed. He propped himself up with pillows, trying not to think of the last time he and Blaine had done this exact same thing.  _He's here to please you. That's what he wants. Anything you want, that's what will make him happy._

Kurt knew the theory, but watching it come true was a little amazing. As he drew Puck's head down between his legs, he looked as though Kurt was giving him the biggest birthday present ever. It was the experience of trying on clothes times a thousand. He paused, his hand on Kurt's thigh, his cheek resting on the head of Kurt's cock.

"You're sure, sir?" Puck asked softly. "This is what you want?"

Kurt tried to be polite, but those  _lips_  were right there, and his tongue could be doing so many other things instead of talking. Even so, Kurt didn't want Puck's first attempt at giving a blowjob to be like so much mouth-fucking. He was going to let him explore a little; Kurt could hold back and be patient while he figured it out. He'd waited this many years, after all. "Yes, Puck. This is what I want. Go on. Make me feel good."

Those lips curved into a breathtaking smile. "Oh, yeah," Puck murmured. "You bet your ass I'm going to do that."

Kurt had just enough time to feel a twinge of startled surprise at that response before Puck opened his mouth and, with a look of intense concentration, deep-throated his cock in one stroke. Whatever gentle or clever intentions he'd had flew out the window as Puck slid his hands under Kurt's ass and spread his legs wide. He let out an embarrassingly loud cry.

Puck wasn't stopping. He did it again, and again, showing no signs of discomfort or reticence. And his hands, god, his  _hands,_  they were stroking a path from Kurt's navel down the creases between his thighs, inspiring sensations Kurt was pretty sure he'd never experienced before. When Puck paused to lick his own two fingers, Kurt nearly passed out.

"Tell me if I do anything you don't like, sir," Puck said. His wet fingers rested on the clenching opening at the base of Kurt's spine, giving firm pressure.

They'd raced ahead, blowing through two years of tentative experimentation with Blaine in thirty seconds, right to where they'd stopped at the summer of senior year. Kurt couldn't bring himself to tell him,  _wait, I've never done this before, and maybe it should really be with someone I'm in love with, because my dad told me that was important._  All he could do was moan and spread his legs wider. Puck actually  _giggled_ , obviously delighted at that response.

"Thank you, sir," he said, with heartfelt devotion, before descending onto Kurt's cock again.

It could easily have been over in five seconds, Kurt knew that for certain, once he'd experienced the mind-numbing intensity of prostate massage. But Puck wasn't going for that. He was clearly working to make it last, fluttering his tongue along the ridge on the underside of Kurt's head, angling his fingers to give slow, indirect stimulation - except every now and then, he made a deliberate sharp move that made Kurt see stars. Each time, he cried out, and each time, Puck chuckled and backed off, sucking more slowly but with no less skill.

 _Skill,_  thought Kurt in a helpless epiphany. "You've done this before," he managed to gasp.

"Maybe," Puck said. He did something with his tongue that  _definite_ ly wasn't luck. "You're going to have to tell me when you want to come, sir, because otherwise I can make this last the rest of the afternoon."

 _Ohmygodohmygod,_  gibbered Kurt in his brain, but he just said, "Now's good, yeah, now would be fine."

"Hmmm." Puck swirled his tongue thoughtfully around Kurt's head, fingers inside him rubbing with maddening lightness. "Well... if you're sure."

 _Not going to beg,_  Kurt thought desperately.  _Not._ "Yeah, I'm sure, god, come on,  _right now."_

And then the fingers were there, filling him up, giving him that perfect angle he'd been waiting for, and Puck's mouth was there too, sucking hard, taking his uncontrolled thrusts with apparent ease. Kurt had mere moments to cry out, "Coming -" But Puck wasn't pulling away, not even when Kurt shot right down his throat.

 _Another first. How many was that, now? Too many to count. Might as well just ask him to fuck you, right here._  He moaned, his hips twitching with aftershocks and possibility, and Puck let him slip from his mouth, resting his head on Kurt's thigh.

"Yeah," Puck agreed. "That was..."

The words disappeared as Puck began to shake. Kurt reached startled, incompetent hands down to touch his head, and realized he was crying.

"Oh -" Kurt said miserably, and drew him up to lie on top of him, resting Puck's head on his chest as he sobbed.

"S-sorry," he said between hitching breaths, clinging to Kurt. "Not - not really how I meant to end this."

"No, no," Kurt assured him, stroking his head with one slow hand, the other holding Puck firmly against him. "I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have - you didn't need to -"

"What?  _No!"_  Puck glanced up at Kurt's face, his lips swollen and cheeks streaked with tears. "Are you fucking kidding me? That was -  _perfect._  Just, that you would let me... that I could do that for you..." He buried his head back into Kurt's chest. Kurt held him with dawning understanding.

"Okay. You're okay." He bent his head down far enough to kiss Puck's head, cradling him tight. "You did so well, Puck, you gave me just what I needed. You made it so good for me. It's never been so good."

"It's all I want," Puck said, his voice muffled against Kurt's chest. "The collar... and you, and... "

"You have it," said Kurt.  _For six months. Six months of - this. And then..._ He closed his own mind to that thought.  _Not going to feel guilty, remember?_  "You're mine."

"Thank you, sir," he whispered.

It didn't occur to Kurt to even suggest reciprocating until much later, after they'd both slept. Kurt sent Puck for water, and when he came back, Kurt let himself look at the crotch of Puck's loose jeans with interest rather than embarrassment. Or, at least, not  _just_  embarrassment.

"Would you have wanted to - to come, too?" he asked.

Puck shrugged as he handed over the water. "Sure. I mean, who doesn't like to get off? But it wasn't the most important thing. If you wanted it, though, I'd definitely be cool with that. Sir."

It was a good reminder of how things really were between them. Kurt thought about it as he sipped. "We'll see," he said at last. "I think I need a shower. Would you make some popcorn and choose a movie?"

He was a little sore, he decided, gingerly probing that part of himself with a careful finger. Not like he'd never tried it himself, but it was definitely different having somebody else inside him.

Then Kurt leaned on the wall of the shower and had a little private freak-out that  _Noah Puckerman_  had just  _been inside him._ Had, in fact, rocked his world with the best sex he'd ever had, bar none.

 _And, really, Kurt, why should that surprise you?_ he scolded himself.  _Sex shark. Of course he knows what he's doing... with guys._ He took a couple deep breaths, willing himself not to pass out.

By the time Puck was done with the popcorn, he was back on the couch, calm and relaxed. "Come here," he said, opening his arms, and Puck went right into them. He stroked his soft head, breathing in unison as they settled back into their inexplicable connection. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Puck said. "Very okay, thank you, sir. You?"

"Yes," Kurt decided. "I'm okay too."

* * *

Puck made it through two more musicals before Kurt turned to him. He was sitting in the crook of Puck's legs with the popcorn. His lip twitched into a smile. "Not really your kind of movie, is it?"

"Not really my business, sir," Puck pointed out. "I'm the slave. I'm here to do what you want."

"Sure," Kurt said, but he didn't look very sure. "Still. I have things to watch that aren't musicals."

He laughed. "You get that I don't really care what we watch? I'd be just as happy making you dinner, or playing cards, or singing a song, or sucking your cock."

Kurt turned pink, but he was still smiling. "I don't play cards much."

"Whatever. You're in charge, and I like that. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." He put his arms around Kurt from behind, holding him close. "Totally crazy, huh?"

"You're telling me," Kurt agreed. He leaned back against Puck with a contented sigh. "You're going to spoil me. I'm not at all motivated to do anything but this."

"Then we'll do this, until you are." Puck rubbed his scratchy cheek on Kurt's smooth one. It made Kurt make a low, pleased noise. The noise, plus the pressure of Kurt's body between his legs, wasn't doing anything to keep Puck's attention on the movie. But he tried his best, and ignored his body's response. When he thought about it, he could still feel the kiss Kurt had placed on his head when he'd cried.

"We should eat something, soon. Rachel has a late rehearsal tonight. Then I think early bed, since we have training tomorrow." Kurt paused, then added, a little shyly, "I really liked it when you sang to me while I was moisturizing."

"Yeah?" Puck grinned. "Could I do that every night?"

Kurt blushed. Puck couldn't help but think he was damn cute when he did that. "Yes."

"And the other stuff? Could I do that every night, too?"

"Making me dinner?" Kurt asked innocently. "Absolutely. I hate cooking."

"I was kind of thinking of the  _other_  other stuff, but okay," Puck agreed. Kurt turned around in his lap and placed both hands on his chest. Puck felt every inch of his skin wake up and take notice.

"You can be sure," said Kurt, "I'll let you know when you can do that."

"Okay," Puck replied faintly. "Sounds good, sir. I'll - just go ahead and see what we have for dinner, okay?"

"Make a list of whatever ingredients you'll need for tomorrow and we can pick it up on the way home from training." Kurt paused the video in the middle of Roger and Mimi's love duet, and Puck went into the kitchen.

He poked around in the cupboard and found some boxed pasta and sauce, and meatless balls in the freezer, but he couldn't maintain his concentration. His mind kept traveling back to Kurt, on the bed in front of him, making those fucking  _delicious_  noises. Puck adjusted himself in his jeans, and wondered if he might have enough time to sneak away to the bathroom while the pasta was cooking. He probably wouldn't need more than a few minutes -

"Hmmm," he heard, and turned in surprise to see Kurt standing next to the fridge, watching him. "I was pretty sure I told you to make dinner. And I'm also pretty sure you don't need any hands on yourself to do that."

"Uh..." Puck gave a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

Kurt didn't smile. "You wouldn't be attempting to take something that belongs to me, would you? Because your pleasure: that's mine. You have no rights beyond what I give you, and I'm definitely taking control of that." Kurt stared at him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered. This entire exchange had the effect of making Puck even more turned on than before, of course, which he thought might have been Kurt's intention. He held up his hands. "I'll be a good boy."

Now Kurt did smile. "I know you will." He turned around and walked back into the living room, leaving Puck to be in control of himself.

That was never something Puck had been good at. Nobody had ever tried to limit his access to self-pleasure. Even Lauren, who had made him wait for sex for such a long time, had expected him to jerk off regularly. And the best way to get him to do something, he knew, was to tell him he  _couldn't._ Puck sighed and focused as best he could on the pasta, but the distraction was nearly overwhelming. By the time dinner was finished, he was having trouble keeping his hands on his head.

He didn't know Kurt was behind him until his arms were wrapped around him. Kurt's body was warm, and Puck felt his forehead rest on the back of his neck, making him bow his head.

"We'd better eat now, sir," he said. "Those meatless balls are nasty when they're cold."

He kept his attention on his plate, instead of on Kurt, because watching him put things into his mouth was really not going to help his self-control. It made dinner kind of a quiet event, but Kurt didn't seem upset by this, so Puck managed to keep his focus. Things had calmed down a bit by the time they were done, and he was able to deal with Kurt's hand on his arm.

"Let's get ready for bed," said Kurt. "I'll take first turn in the bathroom."

Puck took off his jeans and t-shirt, wondering if he'd be permitted to wear them again at all in the next six months, and dropped them into the laundry hamper. He went with just boxers tonight, figuring if Kurt had a problem with that, he'd say something. But he did retrieve the pillow he'd sat on the night before, placing it next to Kurt's chair, and seated himself there with his guitar, strumming through Billy Joel tunes. By the time Kurt returned after his shower, he was ready:

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85sIJcC8zbs>

_Got a call from an old friend  
_ _We used to be real close  
_ _Said he couldn't go on the American way  
_ _Closed the shop, sold the house  
_ _Bought a ticket to the West Coast  
_ _Now he gives them a stand-up routine in L.A._

 _I don't need you to worry for me cause I'm all right  
_ _I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home  
_ _I don't care what you say anymore, this is my life  
_ _Go ahead with your own life and leave me alone_

Kurt was grinning by the end of the chorus. He had on the same  _Hummel Tires and Lube_ t-shirt and flannel pajama pants he'd worn the night before, which kind of surprised Puck. He'd kind of expected Kurt to change his clothes every chance he got.

Kurt sat down next to Puck, leaning comfortably against his back, and began his moisturizing routine while Puck went on with the song.

 _I never said you had to offer me a second chance  
_ _I never said I was a victim of circumstance  
_ _I still belong, don't get me wrong  
_ _And you can speak your mind  
_ _But not on my time_

 _They will tell you you can't sleep alone i_ _n a strange place  
_ _Then they'll tell you you can't sleep w_ _ith somebody else  
_ _Ah, but sooner or later you sleep i_ _n your own space  
_ _Either way it's okay y_ _ou wake up with yourself_

Kurt sang along with him on the final chorus, surprising Puck again.  _I might as well forget about being surprised around Kurt,_ he thought.  _He's done nothing but surprise me these last three days._

 _I don't need you to worry for me cause I'm all right  
_ _I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home  
_ _I don't care what you say anymore, this is my life  
_ _Go ahead with your own life and leave me alone_

Kurt chuckled as Puck concluded the song. "That was the theme song to a television show in the 1980s called  _Bosom Buddies._  My dad showed me reruns. It's about two best friends who live together in an apartment, but they have to cross-dress as women in order to get a lease. They weren't very convincing."

"About as convincing as I was in a dress, that one time," Puck said, grinning up at him. Kurt laughed out loud, remembering. He dabbed at his neck with a cloth.

"My dad weaned me off the cross-dressing when I was in elementary school, but it took me a long time to stop wanting to be pretty."

Puck considered him. "You're still pretty, sir. And I don't think I could say that about too many dudes."

Kurt watched Puck in the mirror. Then he looked away. "I don't really know how to take that."

"As a compliment, I hope." Puck put a hand on Kurt's leg, feeling the definition of the muscle through his pajama pants.  _Fucking beautiful_ was the thought in his head, but he figured that might be a little much.

Kurt closed the little jars and tubes and stashed them in their case, then leaned over and pulled the covers back on his bed while Puck put his guitar away. He watched Kurt for permission to join him.

"You were... a very good boy today," Kurt said, smiling at Puck with calm blue eyes. "It still feels a little strange to say that, but it's true, and... it feels so good."

Puck nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I can't tell you how good it is to hear it, sir. Makes me dizzy."

"Really?" said Kurt softly. His eyes gleamed with pleasure, and Puck felt another wash of overwhelming sensation. He reached for the nearest piece of Kurt's body he could reach, which turned out to be his knee, but it was under the covers, and Puck made what could only be called a whine. Kurt touched his hand. "What is it?"

"It's a little embarrassing, sir," he said.

Kurt's eyes flashed an imperative. "Tell me."

He shrugged, staring at his hands. "It's been over a year since Lauren and I broke up. Almost two. I've gotten used to taking care of things myself. Usually in bed. But - uh, now it looks like I'm sleeping with you, and... I didn't think that would be appropriate, as of this morning."

"And now?"

"Well... now, at dinner, you told me... I couldn't. That my pleasure's under your control." Even saying the words himself, he could feel his response to them. He clutched Kurt's hand.

"Yes. That's right. You're mine."

Puck closed his eyes, trying to stay upright. "I got it, sir. So now I'm just - uh."

"Aroused," Kurt prompted.

"Yeah."

Kurt shifted closer to him. "You do that every morning?"

"Pretty much. And most nights, if I don't have a date."

"Well, you don't," Kurt said sharply. "And I'm going to take care of you."

"Oh." Puck swallowed. "Th-thank you."

Kurt took off his t-shirt and, after a moment, his pajama pants, folding them on the table next to him. He watched Puck with that same intense concentration as he'd used this afternoon. "Take off your shorts and come sit here, against me."

Puck shed his boxers, and leaned in against Kurt's chest. Feeling all of that skin at once, while exciting, was also profoundly calming, and he found himself nearly comatose. "God, Kurt," he moaned. "I think  _this_  is what I needed all day - you, naked, against me."

"Yeah, that's going to help me concentrate," Kurt muttered. But he held Puck tight, and Puck felt him relaxing, too. He sighed. "I hate to say it, but I think you're right."

Then Puck felt Kurt's hand encircle his cock, and he moaned again, for entirely different reasons. He thrust up into Kurt's hand, and heard Kurt whisper, "Fuck, you're so hot."

"Yours," Puck said, losing himself in Kurt's touch, the feel of his hand, and the sound of his voice in his ear. "Anything you want. Let me give you what you want."

Kurt's laugh was rich with desire and appreciation. "Oh, god, honey, trust me,  _you are._ Just help me do it the way you like it. Show me."

Puck fumbled one limp hand over to Kurt's, intertwining their fingers, and took his own cock in his hand. "It's going to be quick," he warned.

"I don't care." Kurt helped him stretch out, lying back in his lap. "Make it good. Let me see how much you love it."

Puck had to admit feeling how much  _Kurt_  was loving it, pressed up against his back, not to mention their joined, slick hands on him, was making this a hundred times hotter than an ordinary jack-off session. He spread his legs, bracing his feet on the bed, and thrust up into their collective fist, keeping the pace steady.

"That's it..." Kurt urged, his breath hot and erratic in Puck's ear, "come on... are you going to come for me?"

"Oh,  _fuck,_  Kurt," he moaned, as the orgasm rolled over him. He gave one or two last desperate thrusts, then ground himself back against Kurt's cock, hearing his responding cries. "Come on, fuck me... I want it so bad..."

"I can't - I don't..." Kurt sounded positively panicked, and Puck turned around to face him, shrugging off postcoital calm, because Kurt  _wasn't_  allowed to sound like that, for any reason. His face was red. "I mean, I've never."

" _Oh,"_ said Puck, getting it. He stopped, holding Kurt's hands in his. "Never? What about Blaine?"

"Blaine was in favor of abstinence," Kurt said heavily. "Please, I - I don't want to get into it right now."

Puck looked down at Kurt's own erect cock, and slid a tentative hand along the inside of his thigh. He watched Kurt shudder and close his eyes. "Well, can I at least - ?"

"Yes," Kurt nodded, his eyes still closed. "Yes,  _please."_

Puck knelt between his thighs, hoping Kurt didn't mind a little of Puck's jizz on his skin, and took him in his mouth for the second time that day. It was something he'd gotten some practice at, because in his experience most guys, even straight ones, wouldn't turn down a blowjob. And they seldom talked about it afterwards with their friends, because none of them wanted to ruin their chances for another one in the future. Kurt seemed to appreciate his expertise, anyway, and he was glad he could give Kurt something he liked. Even on top of the orgasm he'd had that afternoon, Kurt didn't take long either.

"You've really never fucked anybody?" Puck asked afterwards, resting his head on Kurt's amazing legs. He'd never thought of a dude's legs as  _hot_  before, but he thought Kurt's might be. He stroked them with one hand.

"No," sad Kurt. "Neither have I been... fucked. My father wanted me to wait until I was in love. I thought I was in love with Blaine, but... he didn't want to do it with me, I guess."

Puck gazed up at him across his come-covered stomach. "Well, he was an idiot. Sir."

Kurt smiled wryly, touching Puck's head. "I don't hold him any ill will. I think I did love him. It just didn't work out."

"No way," Puck insisted, raising up on his arms. "You're gorgeous, and I know Blaine thought so too. He should have taken every chance to show you that. You deserved that."

Kurt looked away. When he looked back, his eyes were wet. "I can't think about that year too hard. I was so desperate to prove I didn't need anyone, but in reality I was just so, so lonely. I thought nobody would ever understand me, or really understand what I wanted, and want it too."

"Yeah. I know just how that feels."

"I know you do," said Kurt softly. He took Puck's hand, undeterred by the remnants of come and saliva. "You do understand. That's... amazing."

Kurt squeezed Puck's hand one more time, then leaned off the bed and came up with a packet of baby wipes. He offered one to Puck, and they cleaned themselves up.

"You're not going to put your pajamas back on, are you?" Puck said hopefully. Kurt sighed.

"No." He pulled the covers back and welcomed Puck against his body, not shying away from contact now. "This is what we both need. There's no sense in denying it."

He didn't sound completely thrilled about it, but in the midst of all that skin touching skin, Puck really didn't care. As long as Kurt was going to let him do  _this,_  he could deal with a little uncertainty.

 _And this virgin business,_  he thought hazily.  _That, we're going to have to do something about, and soon._

"Thank you, sir," he said, snuggling closer. "For all of it."

He held his breath as Kurt's lips touched his head, just as they had the night before. "You're so welcome, and thank you, too. Sleep well."

Puck fell asleep first, but he woke up again when Rachel got home from her late rehearsal. His eyes were open when she parted Kurt's curtain, whispering, "Kurt? Are you still awake? I have to - oh."

Puck found himself feeling a little defensive, and he put a hand on Kurt's sleeping, bare chest. Kurt stirred a little. "Don't wake him," he pleaded. "It's been a - a big day."

Rachel's eyes were enormous. "Puck?"

"It's part of the slave thing," he felt compelled to add. "He's not doing anything I don't want, and neither am I."  _I hope._  "Just - don't make a big deal about it, okay? Six months, and I'm out of his hair. Until then, he gets to call the shots."

Kurt stirred again, and Puck waved her back. She gave one brief, perplexed nod, and withdrew behind the curtain.

"Whazgoing on?" murmured Kurt, not bothering to open his eyes. Puck hesitated, then bent and put a gentle kiss on Kurt's cheek.

"You had a dream," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay," Kurt agreed. He was already rolling over, tucking the blanket under his chin. Puck decided spooning him on the outside wasn't something he needed permission to do, and just pulled him close before slipping back into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Training on any day inspired an odd mix of intense feelings in Kurt. He was fascinated to meet such a range of slaves who desired complete loss of control. The experience of having them submit to him was heady, of course, and he found it erotic and deeply satisfying. But it often pushed his boundaries in unexpected ways. He never quite knew how the day would turn out. Sometimes he'd go home completely worn out, and some days he'd be almost manic with energy.

Cassie told him this was normal, and that he would learn to handle the energy better as he matured as an owner. "Each slave needs something a little different," she said. "You won't always get it right. I don't always, either, not even after twenty years."

But in the midst of the very first day at training with Puck, Kurt knew it was going to be different. He said as much to Cassie, watching Puck across the room. "I'm more calm, more confident. More sure of myself."

"Hmmm." Cassie looked over her clipboard, frowning. Then she raised her voice. "Caleb."

The reply came from the slaves waiting on the bench. "Here?"

"You're no longer needed today. Take an extra shift at the gym."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, with only a hint of uncertainty, and headed into the changing room. These slaves were trained to obey without question.

She looked up. "You, there. Gorgeous." She snapped her fingers at Puck and pointed. "Front and center."

Puck was startled, but he responded quickly enough, rising from the floor and walking barefoot over to stand before Cassie. Kurt nodded at him encouragingly.

"You want to help your owner? Do what he says, make him happy?"

"I - yes, ma'am," he said, nodding. Kurt basked in the rush of pride he felt.

"Then you're subbing in for Caleb. You're here to give your owner practice with discipline. You ready to let him?"

Puck didn't even hesitate. "I'm in."

Cassie frowned again, but she went on. "Here's your scenario, Kurt. You sent Gorgeous here to the -"

"Hold it, hold it. Hang on a second." Kurt closed with Cassie, speaking in an undertone while watching Puck out of the corner of his eye. He seemed calm. "You want me to discipline him? But he hasn't done anything wrong."

"Neither have any of these other slaves you've been working on all week," she said.

Kurt shook his head, more insistently. "No, I mean - well, okay, I know what you're saying, but..." He stopped, furrowing his brow. "Won't this  _confuse_  him? To get discipline for no good reason?"

"This is a good reason, Kurt." She looked irritated. "He knows it. I know it. You're the only one who's being an idiot here."

"I just don't want him to think it's a game."

One eyebrow went up. "It is a game. Everything's a game. You have to play by the rules. Are you going to do this, or do I need to get Caleb back?"

"No... no." Kurt eyed Puck again, standing there, waiting for instructions.  _You can do this._ "Okay. Give me the scenario."

"As I was saying. You sent Gorgeous to the store to get groceries, and he decided to come back with beer instead. When questioned, he told you he did it because you needed to relax." She gestured at the trunk on the floor, and the various furniture set up around the room as props. "All standard parameters apply. Go."

Kurt approached Puck, putting a hand on his arm. He looked at Kurt, smiling.

"Uh... standard parameters means I can do whatever seems reasonable, without drawing blood or causing lasting harm, like breaking a bone." Kurt felt himself sweating a little.

"Hummel," Cassie said again, clearly aggravated. " _Go."_

He pulled himself together and took a deep breath. "Puck. Explain to me why you picked up nothing on the grocery list?"

"I told you, sir," he replied, with an innocent expression, "it was to help you relax. You've had a really hard week. I just want you to be happy."

Kurt smiled despite himself. It did sound like something Puck might do. He put a hand on his face, cupping his cheek, and Puck smiled back, looking a little pink.

"You do make me happy," Kurt said. "So very happy. You know what else makes me happy? When you do what you're told."

"I - I'm sorry, sir." Puck stared at the floor. "I guess I should have gotten the groceries and then asked you about the beer."

"That's right," Kurt agreed. "You'll go out after this is over and pick up  _only_  what's on the list. Can I trust you to do that?"

"Yes, sir."

Puck was maybe being a little too well-behaved, but this wasn't about the quality of his acting. Kurt surveyed the furniture and led Puck over to the wall where padded cuffs dangled at eye level. "Put your hands up on the wall," he instructed, "palms flat, legs spread."

He did as Kurt told him, glancing over his shoulder only once before bracing himself. Kurt approached him from behind, standing right up against him while he reached around to undo Puck's lovely linen pants.

"Uh... sir?" He felt Puck's back stiffen under his hands. Not to mention other things.

"I'm taking your pants down because I'm going to paddle you for disobedience. You just wait right there, and don't worry about anything. Understand?"

He hoped Puck understood that meant the erection wasn't a big deal. Half of the slaves he dealt with got aroused while being disciplined or handled. Puck still looked uneasy, but he nodded.

Kurt opened the trunk and chose a wooden paddle, one that had been polished and sanded carefully to provide a wide, flat surface. It wasn't heavy, but he knew it would deliver an appropriate amount of sting. "All right. Puck, you disobeyed me. I expect you to follow my instructions. You tried to anticipate my needs, and I appreciate that, but you need to begin with doing as you're told. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Puck's head was already suspended between his shoulders, and his voice was regretful. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I know." He ran a hand up Puck's back, feeling the muscles shift under his shirt. "You're a good boy. The word you may use to pause, if it's getting too intense, is  _yellow."_  Slaves generally did not have the right to use a stop word except under specific circumstances. "Say the word now."

"Yellow?"

"That's right. I'm going to give you twelve. Count, please."

He laid the paddle on the bare skin of Puck's ass, measuring the distance. Kurt had had plenty of experience with this paddle and all the other tools in the trunk. He was sure it wasn't going to harm Puck in any lasting way, no matter how hard he hit him. But somehow, it felt so much more personal, doing this to Puck. To  _his_  slave.

 _Of course, it's personal,_  he told himself.  _Focus._ He brought the paddle down on his bare skin, trying not to wince at the sound. Puck hissed, but didn't flinch until the second blow.

"Keep your position, please," Kurt reminded him, and landed a third. Puck's skin was pink now, and there were three clear outlines of the paddle on his ass. They would fade within ten minutes, he knew, but he admired them for a moment before going on. "You may begin counting any time."

"Oh - uh. Sorry, sir." Puck arched his back a little, rolling his hips, and Kurt felt suddenly distracted, himself. He thought about the conversation they'd had last night.  _You've really never fucked anyone?_  Puck had asked. Implying that he had? A  _man?_  But he had asked for Kurt to be the one to do that, not the other way around. So he must know how good it felt.

Kurt shook off the fantasies, focusing on the reddened skin under his paddle. He delivered three measured blows, hearing Puck count in a somewhat tense but steady voice. On the fourth, his voice broke, and he staggered forward a step.

"I can cuff you to the wall if you're having trouble maintaining your position," Kurt said evenly.

"Oh, god, yes,  _please,_  sir," Puck groaned. His hips shifted again. Kurt let out a shaky breath, setting the paddle down on the table, and reached up to get the cuffs from where they hung suspended on thin lengths of chain. His body pressed against the length of Puck's back as he did so. Puck let out a gasp, bucking up against Kurt.

"You will  _hold still,"_  he said, and brought his hand down to slap Puck's bare ass. Puck started to cry, his breath shuddering in and out. Kurt fastened the cuffs around Puck's wrists, repositioning his hands on the wall.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, shaking his head slowly and rhythmically. "I can't - I can't -"

"Yes, you can," Kurt assured him. "And you will. Now put your feet back... there you go. We're going to start again from one. Are you ready?"

Puck nodded, still crying, but Kurt picked up the paddle and laid it in position on his skin, waiting, until Puck said, "Yes, sir."

With the cuffs on, Puck's body hung more loosely against the wall, his position less rigid, but he followed each stroke with a number until he reached nine. "Y-yellow," he gasped out.

Kurt halted the paddle, somewhat surprised. He placed his other hand on Puck's back. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"Close," muttered Puck.

 _Close to what?_  was on the tip of his tongue, but then Kurt saw Puck glance at Cassie, and he flushed from his forehead to his chest as he realized  _exactly_  what Puck meant by that. He set the paddle down and moved closer to Puck, putting his hands on his ribs. Then he glared at Cassie until she sighed and faced the other direction.

"I'm giving you permission to let go of that control right now," he said, right into Puck's ear. "Your goal here is to let me handle everything. If that means you need to come, then you do that. I'm not going to be upset at you for anything you do without your intention. All right?"

"I'm sorry," Puck whispered, panting. "I'm - I'm so sorry. I'm letting you down."

He slid his arms around Puck's chest, stroking his skin under his shirt. "Honey...  _no._  You're not doing anything wrong, and you don't have to do anything but give in. You're not letting me down."

Puck turned his head toward Kurt's, close enough for Kurt to feel his breath, and see the fear in his troubled eyes. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Three more, and we'll be done. Are you ready?"

Puck dropped his head and nodded, then remembered to say, "Yes, sir."

Kurt knew the last three strokes were supposed to be the strongest, but he found himself holding back, wanting to spare Puck any further anguish.  _He didn't do anything wrong,_  he kept thinking, and each time he thought it, the angrier he got. But Puck counted the strokes, and at last he was finished.

Kurt took a few steps back, trying to clear his head and assess Puck's state, but the further he got from Puck, the more agitated he looked, and the more Kurt's stomach clenched.

Cassie touched his shoulder, and he startled, staring at her. "What's the problem, Hummel?" she asked quietly. "Aftercare?"

"I - I can't think straight," he said.

She didn't even crack a smile; she just guided Kurt to stand in front of Puck, unhooking the cuffs from the chains, not even taking time to unbuckle them. "Hold him," she ordered. "Come on. He needs it, you need it."

"I've never done that before," Kurt protested, but his arms went up, holding Puck as he began to crumple and shake. "Oh... shh, no, you're fine..."

"You've never disciplined your own pleasure slave before," she said. "It's going to be different. Right now, he needs to know you're here. Take him in the aftercare room. When he's calm, give him water, tissues, blanket. Check his bruises and his pulse. Come  _on,_  Kurt, you know this part; you've done it a dozen times."

"Okay... yes. I got it." With an arm around Puck, he helped him pull his shorts and pants back up over his bruised behind, and led him through one of the doors on the other side of the room. The aftercare room consisted of little more than a bed and a sink, but that was about all he needed. "Puck... come here, let me take a look. Just lie down right here, on your side."

Slowly, Puck took down his pants and boxers again, and Kurt inspected the marks. Everything looked okay. He considered getting some arnica gel, but as he skated his fingers lightly over Puck's skin, Puck groaned, thrusting his hips back into Kurt's hand. Kurt gave up and gathered him into his lap, sitting on the bed.

"I know it wasn't supposed to be," Puck said hoarsely, clinging to his shoulders, "but fuck, sir, that was just about the hottest thing I've ever done."

"I'll remember that when I need to discipline you for real," Kurt replied, smiling.  _"Note to self: Puck needs more intense spanking."_  He dared to lay a hand on the inside of Puck's thigh, just inside his boxers, and Puck groaned again.

"You said yellow, before," Kurt said. "You were... close. But you didn't finish. Do you think you would have, if we'd kept going? Even without my hands on you?"

Puck hesitated, then nodded, his face red. "I wouldn't need you to touch me. But it would feel a hell of a lot better."

"You get that I wasn't trying to make it good for you. The fact that it was, that's just a side effect. This was about discipline. Or, in real life, it would have been." Kurt studied his face. "It... affected me, doing this to you, in a way it never did before."

Puck nodded again. "I guess it affected me, too. I mean, yeah, in the obvious way, but... like, inside."

It clearly took a lot for Puck to admit that. Once again, Kurt was bowled over by the incredible pride he felt in him. It was almost more than he could bear, and he wrapped his arms around him, squeezing his eyes tight shut and burying his face in Puck's new shirt. He breathed in the smell of clean sweat and sex and fear that was so ridiculously alluring. "I don't think it was fair for you to bear the brunt of my paddling when you didn't do anything wrong."

"Kurt," Puck said softly. He put a gentle hand on Kurt's head. Kurt heard him sigh. "I kind of liked it. Both the paddling, and... knowing I could help you learn this. I'm learning too. Whoever my next owner is, they're going to want me to do it the right way."

This made Kurt feel like crying. For a moment, he almost felt safe enough to do that, right there in Puck's arms. But then he pulled himself together, taking a deep breath, willing the tears away.  _Get a grip. You're in charge here._

"You're doing everything right," Kurt promised him. "You're my good boy, and I'm so proud of you."

"Fucking awesome, sir," Puck said, grinning, and Kurt laughed hard enough that he  _did_  start crying, a little. But that was okay.

On the subway on the way home, they held hands, sitting next to one another. Kurt could feel the tension between them, and he thought he knew exactly what would ease that.

The moment they were through the door, Kurt was stripping Puck's clothes off him, followed by his own. "Rachel doesn't get home until five-thirty on Fridays," he said, pressing him carefully down to the bed. Puck didn't seem to be wincing, so he guessed his bruises weren't bothering him too much. "I think we have a little time in which to be naked together."

The moment their bodies touched, they let out a collective groan of relief, and then both cracked up.

"God, we're pathetic," Kurt said, giggling, holding Puck tighter. "But apparently, I don't care. I just needed my daily fix of skin against skin."

"I think having you paddle me made it harder, sir," said Puck, and that sent Kurt back into fits of laughter. "Heh. Yeah, like that, too... but I mean harder, because I just wanted you  _all over me_  after you did that. And I don't think we could, not there, right?"

"I don't know." Kurt thought about what Cassie had said.  _It's different when it's your own pleasure slave._  "I think the rules are different, for us, but... probably there are appropriate limits to what we should do during training. I can wait until we get home, every day, to have this. I think." He trailed his fingers along Puck's thigh, between his legs, and felt him respond. "But now nothing's stopping me from taking what I want."

"Oh..." Puck's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when he opened them again, he was smiling. "Anything you want, sir."

"I know," Kurt said, smiling back. He took Puck's wrists and stretched them above his head, holding them there, straddling him. "I want you, just like this. Can you hold still while I get my cuffs?"

By the goofy, flushed grin on his face, Kurt guessed that Puck could hold as still as he needed to if cuffs were involved.  _Note to self,_  Kurt thought, rummaging in his table drawer.  _Puck gets off on being restrained. Who knew?_

"You've always liked this?" Kurt asked. Puck nodded, gazing up at him, as he hooked the carabiners to the tiedowns under his mattress. Kurt's breath came a little faster, seeing him spread out, helpless like that. "Me, too."

"Lucky me," said Puck, sounding a little breathless himself. Then, as Kurt made his way down the center of Puck's body to kneel before him, he groaned in anticipation. "Really,  _really_  lucky me."

Kurt knew he wasn't as skilled at this as Puck was, but Puck wasn't complaining. Kurt lost himself for a little while in the smell and taste of Puck, the feeling of his cock in Kurt's mouth, every moan and gasp inspiring further feelings of possessiveness.

"You're mine," he declared, one hand planted on Puck's chest, holding him down, which his other hand stroked him roughly. "And you're going to come for me now."

Puck cried out, incoherent, thrusting into Kurt's grip, as he wrung every last scrap of pleasure out of him. Then Kurt moved his hands to Puck's hips, grinding hard against him. He growled in frustration.

"God, I want... I just  _want,"_  he snapped. Then he sighed and dropped his head down on Puck's chest, resting there.

"You can take," Puck said softly. "Really."

Kurt groaned. "No. I really can't. But... thank you. Consider that a limit I can't cross, for myself. It doesn't have anything to do with you, or who you are. Because, trust me, you're in every way delicious." He uncuffed Puck, leaving the cuffs tied to the corners of the bed, and handed him the baby wipes. "We'd better get dressed, or we might have Rachel to deal with when she gets home. I really don't think she's ready to see us like this."

"Uh." Puck looked up guiltily at Kurt, from where he was craning his neck to look at his own ass. "She saw us last night. In bed together."

"She -" Kurt thought about Rachel at breakfast that morning, acting completely normal, sharing the cereal and talking about her drama class. "She didn't seem to care at all."

"No, sir." Puck shrugged, buttoning up his shirt. "I guess it's not such a big deal after all?"

When Rachel got home, Kurt was sitting on the couch with Puck, their arms around one another, albeit fully clothed. Kurt watched Rachel with a steady gaze as she entered the room, daring her with his eyes.  _Go ahead. Make a comment. Tell me how crazy this is, that I'm possessing this boy, in every way. Well, almost every way._

But Rachel just smiled at them, getting a sparkling water from the fridge, and coming to sit next to them on the chair. "How was your first day training together?"

"Kind of awesome," said Puck. He laced his fingers through Kurt's and squeezed. "Kurt's really amazing. You should see him work some time - ow!"

Kurt removed his elbow from Puck's ribs and smiled sweetly. "Don't tease the softworlders," he whispered to Puck, who stifled his laughter.

"Yes, sir," he whispered back. "I can be very good."

* * *

Puck didn't play Billy Joel that night, or the night after that, or for several days thereafter. He tried some contemporary bands that he thought Kurt might know, and some classic rock ones he liked, and Kurt enjoyed them all. Puck guessed Kurt didn't mind whatever he played, in the same way that Puck didn't mind whatever Kurt wanted to watch on television. It was  _him_  that mattered, not what he did.

Their days began to blur together: breakfast, training, lunch, more training, enthusiastically naked snuggling, dinner, relaxing, moisturizing and music, bed. Puck kept waiting for Kurt to get sick of him and tell him to go away, but it didn't happen, and eventually he relaxed his vigilance and began to accept that maybe, possibly, this would be his life for the next couple months. It did seem to be true.

Another thing that seemed to be true was Kurt's enthusiasm for sex. It was awesome, even if he didn't want to do any actual fucking, because Kurt was both creative and driven to handle everything. Often when Puck came home, he found a new toy waiting for Kurt to try on him, or a new piece of bondage equipment, or a disciplinary tool. Puck had no idea when Kurt had the time to plan for or purchase all of this stuff, let alone the money, but he wasn't going to pry. Kurt was in charge, after all.

Puck learned a lot of things from being Kurt's training slave. Mostly, he learned all the things he hadn't realized he  _didn't know._  How to sit and stand, what to say and when, every little detail of living as a slave.

"What do you like best?" Rachel asked him one evening at dinner, as he prepared the chili.

"What do you mean?"

She took a sip of her wine. "I mean, you clearly enjoy being a slave. What do you like best about it?

Puck thought about that while he stirred the chili and put the lid on the pot. "I like knowing I can make somebody happy," he said at last.

Rachel cocked her head at him, smiling. "You mean you like making  _Kurt_  happy."

Puck kept his eyes on the dishes. "Well, yeah. He's my owner. That's how it works."

"He makes you happy, too," she said.

"Yeah," Puck admitted. He looked up at her and grinned. "As in  _oh my god, yeah."_

"I'm not just talking about in bed." She gave his shoulder a little push. "I mean in everything."

Puck felt his smile slip away, until he was left with just a vague sense of unease. "For another one hundred and forty-nine days, maybe. And then - well, it'll be time for me to find another owner."

She looked troubled. "You really think it'll be over, just like that?"

"I have no freaking idea," he admitted. Most days he tried not to think about it, but every now and then it would come up, usually in the middle of the night. Maybe it would take a couple days, fading away, or maybe it would be like a light switch - there, then gone. He sighed. "I don't know how real it is, you know? Trusting it... feels dangerous."

"Maybe it's not about the contract. Maybe it's real." Rachel touched his arm, imploring. But Puck shook his head.

"I don't think so, Rach. There's no way I can know for sure except to stick around." He tried to smile. "And I would have done that anyway, even if I... even if it weren't like this."

Puck met Kurt at the door when he got home that evening, as he always did when Kurt had to be away from him for some reason. They were never apart for more than a half hour at a time, but it was long enough to give him anxiety. His only consolation was that Kurt didn't like it any better than he did. He clung to him for several minutes before speaking.

"Finn's coming tomorrow."

"Yes," said Kurt. He stroked Puck's head idly. Puck wasn't even sure Kurt realized he was doing it. "You haven't told him. About this."

"No." He laughed with bitter amusement. "But he totally couldn't miss... this."

"No," Kurt agreed. "I think we need to tell him together, or else he's going to be mad at his stepbrother or his best friend for holding out on him."

Puck got ready for bed in silence, taking his guitar down from the stand and placing his pillow meditatively. But before Kurt could open any jars or tubes, Puck put a hand on his knee.

"What... are we going to tell Finn this is, sir?" he asked slowly.

Kurt didn't respond right away. "I mean," Puck went on, "he might get the idea of me being your slave, but..." He looked helplessly up at Kurt. "What is this, really?"

"I think we have to tell him everything we know," Kurt said. "He can put the pieces together as well as we can. Finn's plays dumb, but he's not."

"I know." Puck clutched his guitar to his chest, staring at nothing, until Kurt touched his bare shoulders and stroked his skin. It had always worked in the past to calm him, but somehow tonight it wasn't enough. He pulled away from Kurt's hands.

"I see." Kurt sounded more annoyed than hurt. "How about some music? Or are you going to deny me that, too?"

Puck set his mouth in a thin line and strummed while he sang:

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-3ff6Svvtk>

_I didn't want to do it but I got too lonely  
_ _I had to call you up in the middle of the night  
_ _I know it's awful hard to try and make love long distance  
_ _But I really needed stimulation  
_ _Though it was only my imagination_

 _It's just a fantasy  
_ _It's not the real thing  
_ _It's just a fantasy  
_ _It's not the real thing  
_ _But sometimes a fantasy  
_ _Is all you need_

Puck wondered how far he'd get through the song before Kurt stopped him, but by the second verse he was still picking up steam. He didn't think Kurt was actually applying anything to his face, but he wasn't going to turn around to look.

 _When am I gonna take control get a hold of my emotions  
_ _Why does it only seem to hit me in the middle of the night  
_ _You told me there's a number I can always dial for assistance  
_ _I don't want to deal with outside action  
_ _Only you can give me satisfaction_

 _It's just a fantasy  
_ _It's not the real thing  
_ _It's just a fantasy  
_ _It's not the real thing  
_ _But sometimes a fantasy  
_ _Is all you need_

 _Sure it would be better if I had you here to hold me  
_ _Be better baby, but believe me it's the next best thing  
_ _I'm sure there's many times you've wanted me to hear your secrets  
_ _Don't be afraid to say the words that move me  
_ _Anytime you want to tell them to me_

 _It's just a fantasy  
_ _It's not the real thing  
_ _It's just a fantasy  
_ _It's not the real thing  
_ _But sometimes a fantasy  
_ _Is all you need_

He dropped his guitar on the floor and pushed past Kurt's curtain into the kitchen, pouring himself a cold glass of water. After a few minutes fuming about how obnoxious Kurt was being, and a few more wrestling with his own guilt, he poured another one for Kurt and went back into the bedroom.

Kurt was sitting in the center of the bed, watching him. He'd put Puck's guitar back into the stand, which somehow made Puck feel even worse.

"So I don't really know what to do about this, sir," Puck said, handing the water to Kurt. "I can ignore calls from my Ma and my Nana, and tell Sarah I'm living the good life in the Big Apple, but I can't lie to my best friend, especially if he's going to visit us. And Berry already knows, and - and somebody's bound to find out."

"Sit down, Puck," Kurt said quietly. He sat, bowing his head, feeling the tightness across his chest. Kurt opened his arms. "Come here."

In under ten seconds, Puck found his head cradled on Kurt's thigh, clutching at his leg, crying desperately while Kurt stroked his shoulder.

"This isn't about your Ma or your friends finding out," he said. Puck shook his head, unable to speak through his tears. "Are you going to tell me what it is about?" He shook his head again. Kurt sighed. "Okay. On the bed, face down, wrists above your head."

Puck's eyes shot up to Kurt's. "Sir - but Rachel - !"

"She'll manage," Kurt said. "Are you going to do this or am I going to have to do it for you?"

"God," he moaned, as Kurt took his hand and guided him gently but firmly onto his stomach. "I really don't think I can -"

"You really don't have a choice," Kurt assured him. "I'm not angry now, but I could be mighty pissed off if you keep pushing it."

Puck settled down until Kurt struck the first blows, and then the rage burst forth, amidst a furious spate of tears. "You think this is so fucking  _easy?"_  he shouted. "I'm the one living in somebody else's house, somebody else's  _life._  Giving everything - for what? To have you tell me what to do?"

"Yes," Kurt said. "That's exactly what you're doing. And you're going to keep doing it."

"Why? Because I have a stupid fucking contract?"

"No." Kurt was in his face then, down on the edge of the bed, glaring at him. "Because you need it. You  _need_  it, just like I need it. Because you can't walk away from this."

Puck knew the words he was speaking were wrong, but he couldn't keep himself from saying them. They just boiled forth, evil and vile, like pus from a wound. "You've got me cuffed to the fucking bed, that's why. Take these cuffs off and you'll  _see_  how fast I can be out of here."

Kurt flinched back, staring. Puck saw the hurt in his eyes, but he had no words to take it back, so he just closed his own to avoid having to see it.

"No," he heard Kurt say. "No, I'm not going to do that. I know the more you push me away, the more you need me. And I'm not going to let you go."

Puck began to cry in earnest now, huge sobs. He couldn't think of Rachel or Kurt or anyone else, just the certainty of  _you are, you're going to have to let me go in five months, and what the hell am I going to do then?_  They were words he couldn't say aloud. All he could do was hate himself for letting himself  _care_  again.

"Then you're the idiot," he forced out, "for wanting this in the first place. I can't give you anything you need."

He felt Kurt unbuckling the cuffs, but he didn't run. He didn't do anything but lay there in a crumpled ball and cry, even when Kurt's arms came around him and coaxed him to do the same.

"Puck," Kurt whispered, "god, don't you know how much you give me, every day?" He brushed Puck's tears away with feather-light touches. "You're not the only one who's been wanting this. Only I've never had it, have I? I train with slaves all day, but I still never had  _this_. Who stands to lose everything now, huh?"

Kurt didn't let him go, not even after the crying subsided. He just held him there in his arms on top of the covers, the lights still on, until Puck fell asleep.

He woke up in the middle of the night, lights off and under the covers, to an empty warm space next to him. He put his hand in the space, then took the opportunity to bury his face in Kurt's pillow. He was just about to go back to sleep when he heard the sound of Kurt crying, and he sat up in a hurry, listening.

He heard Rachel's soft voice. "I don't see that you really have a choice."

"I can't calm this fear, Rach, because I'm having the same one." He blew his nose. "You know how useless that makes me feel? What kind of an owner am I if I can't take care of him? For all I know, I'm just using him."

"For all you know, you're just using each other. It's not the worst possibility."

He heard Kurt groan, and hs ached inside. "You have no idea. This person I am with him, I've never been that with anybody else. When he leaves... I'm going to lose a part of myself."

"You don't know that, Kurt. You have to be willing to be open-minded here, but you're still in control. You can still make decisions about what you want."

Kurt laughed bitterly. "It's not a question of what I want, though, is it? It's what he wants. And what if that changes? If we've lost that... I don't think I could just be his friend. And I would never keep him as a slave if he didn't want what we have."

"Everybody in a relationship deals with this, Kurt. People do change, sometimes in unexpected ways."

"Rachel." He sounded so weary, so flat. "This isn't a  _relationship._  It's an ownership. He's my property."

"You can say whatever you want, Kurt Hummel, but I know what I see."

They fell silent after that, but Puck had heard enough. The room was warm, but he lay shivering under the covers until Kurt came back to bed a few minutes later.  _He couldn't stay away, after all,_  Puck thought, feeling the wrench inside.  _Something compels him._

"Honey..." Kurt climbed under the covers and wrapped his body around Puck's. Puck felt the pieces settle into place as he held him, and that made him cry. "You should be asleep. It's late."

"Yes, sir." He rested his head on Kurt's shoulder, listening to his heart. "I thought - after last night, I thought maybe this wasn't going to work anymore. This touching thing. That I'd lost it somehow."

Kurt held him tighter. "But you didn't."

"No, sir."

"Okay." Kurt sighed. "Okay. Let's go back to sleep. We have to get ready for Finn's visit in the morning."

Puck heard Kurt's breathing flatten into sleep a few minutes later, but he lay awake for a long while after that. He heard the sounds of the apartment around him, the sounds that after a month were starting to feel familiar. He put his hand on the chest of the man that was the most familiar of all, and felt each inspiration and exhalation like descending sands in an hourglass.  _Every day, I'm closer to losing this._


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt met Finn at the door, smiling, and pulled him into a hug. "So glad you could come out."

"Wouldn't miss it, little brother. When Burt said he could manage without me for a whole week, well..." Finn grinned. "I miss my girlfriend, you know?"

"She misses you," he assured him. "Trust me, I hear about it all the time. Come on in, you can put your bag in here." Kurt moved Rachel's curtain aside, showing him the space she slept in.

Finn eyed the curtain with doubt. "Not a lot of, uh, soundproofing between rooms, huh? I'm thinking I'm going to have to say sorry in advance."

Kurt laughed. "She's heard plenty from my room, too, so I think whatever I hear can just be payback, all right? And seriously, Finn, in high school, you really think a wall between our bedrooms was enough to keep me from hearing the two of you?"

"Guess not." Finn shrugged sheepishly, then grabbed Kurt in another hug. "Man, I missed you too. Thanks for letting me be the third wheel for a while."

"You get to be the fourth wheel, dude," said Puck, appearing with a dishtowel in his hand. Finn looked like he'd been hit over the head with a crowbar for about five seconds. Then he was hugging Puck with his usual gentle enthusiasm.

"Holy shit, man!" He took Puck by the shoulders and held him at arm's length. "I knew you were in New York, but... what were the chances you would have shown up here?"

"Pretty good, actually." Puck grinned up at Finn. "You knew something about me. Something that led me to New York, away from Lima. And - you knew something about Kurt."

"Well, yeah..." Finn thought about it, furrowing his eyebrows. Then his eyes widened again. He looked back and forth between Kurt and Puck. "The two of you, you're  _both_  in the Marketplace?"

"What'd I tell you, sir," Puck crowed. "He's smarter than he looks."

"Yeah... hey! What?" Finn's triple-take was enough to make Kurt laugh, even in this awkward moment. " _Sir?"_

"You might want to sit down now, Finn," Kurt suggested, taking his arm and guiding him to the couch. "Puck, go get him something to drink."

"Yes, sir." Puck's smile was definitely something less than obedient, but he went quickly enough. Finn stared up at him.

"He's your... I mean, he's... you two are..." He shook his head. "What's going  _on_  here?"

Kurt gave him the ten-minute version of the last month, trying not to leave anything out while sparing Finn the most intimate details.  _Finn doesn't need to know how good his best friend is in bed with guys, for example._  Puck returned with a soda for Finn, and sat comfortably on the floor next to Kurt, offering details.

To his credit, Finn listened to everything without freaking out. He had some insightful questions ("So why isn't Puck kneeling at attention right now, if he's wearing that collar?") and some ridiculous ones ("Dude, does this mean I get to tell you what to do, too?"). By the end, he knew it all, and his last question was the biggest one.

"So if the two of you are sleeping in the same bed, and you're, uh, having sex, and you're spending all your time together, and you're always having to be touching... how is that different from being boyfriends? Uh, really codependent boyfriends?"

Kurt reached out and took Puck's hand. "It doesn't look that different to a softworlder, I think. We're kind of counting on it. But this... bond, it's part of the contract. We're obligated to each other."

Finn nodded, but he still looked perplexed. "Okay, well... I guess I can't really understand, can I? But... if you both want this, I'm here to support you, okay?"

Kurt hugged him again. "You're kind of awesome, Finn Hudson."

"You're kind of awesome too, Kurt." He turned to Puck. "Fucking A, man, you could have just told me."

"Yeah, but by the time I was actually doing it, you'd already booked this visit." Puck shrugged. "I didn't think it would have been easier to explain it over the phone. Better to just see it."

Finn got to  _see it_  all, or at least all of it that they showed to anybody else, and he dealt with it remarkably well. There was one point on their walking visit to Knickerbocker Ave where Finn gave them both a little shove, rolling his eyes.

"Do you really have to hang all over each other?" he said under his breath.

Kurt clutched Puck's arm more possessively. "Seriously, Finn, we're holding back all the time. If I were taking what I actually needed, we'd have our clothes off right now."

Finn held up both hands. "Okay, okay... sorry I asked."

When they returned to the apartment, Kurt put a hand on Finn's arm. "You're going to have to amuse yourself for a while. And you might not want to listen."

"Oh..." Finn looked a little anxious. "Thanks for the heads up, I guess? I'll go listen to music with my headphones. Can you tell me when you're... um, when it's safe?"

"I feel kind of bad for Finn, sir," Puck whispered, as Kurt stripped off his clothes. "I'm not sure it's cool to do this when he's right in the other room. Hardly even another room, really."

"Would it be easier if I forbade you to feel guilty about accepting what you need?" Kurt asked, smiling. "Finn's the guest here. This is your house."

"I guess so," said Puck. Kurt gave him the eye, and he laughed. "Okay, yeah. It's your house, at least. And you get to do whatever the fuck you want. Sir."

* * *

Four days later at breakfast, Kurt caught Rachel fuming. "He's driving me absolutely  _crazy,"_  she whispered. "I love Finn, don't get me, I do. But I can't handle being around him all the time."

"I know that feeling so well," Kurt said cheerfully, pouring his cereal. "Used to live with him, remember?"

She sighed and dropped her chin on top of her arms. "How do you and Puck deal with it? You're around each other all the time.  _All_  the time. Doesn't he ever get under your skin?"

"It's not quite the same thing, Rach. In any case, when you first met Finn, I seem to recall he could do no wrong."

"But that's not how you are with Puck," Rachel argued. "You tell him he's doing things wrong all the time, but that doesn't change how much you want to be together." She thought about that. "Maybe..."

"No," Kurt said firmly, pointing his spoon at Rachel. "You are not going to try to be in charge of Finn. That way lies madness. Neither of you are cut out for the Marketplace, trust me."

But Kurt did wonder, sometimes, how it could possibly be so easy with Puck. It wasn't that he needed to be talking with him or doing something with him all the time, but he felt... more at home, when Puck was there. Their touch could be simple, like a hand on an arm, or more intimate, but he seldom needed anyone else these days. It was when Finn asked him about his social life that he realized how much things had changed.

"So who do you hang out with in New York?" Finn propped his enormous sneakers up on the coffee table, and Kurt patiently picked them up and put them back on the floor.

"Just Rachel, mostly," he said. "Rachel and I used to go clubbing on weekends. We haven't gone since Puck arrived."

Finn nodded. "Anybody else? You meet any other friends at training?"

"I'm really the only one. It's kind of a one-on-one mentoring thing. Why?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. "It just seems like it could be lonely."

Kurt realized, with a start, that he wasn't, at all. He hadn't even considered going dancing in the past five weeks. "I guess I could take Puck with me," he said slowly. "I mean, that's what most owners do. If they have a date or an event, their slave comes along, but they don't get in the way. They're... an accessory."

Finn made a face. "But he's your friend, too."

"We were never friends, Finn. Not my boyfriend, either. Lovers, maybe. Almost."

"Almost? Do I really want to know?" He peered closer. "Kurt, are you still a virgin?"

Kurt clapped his hands over his ears. "TMI, brother of mine. Seriously, why is everybody surprised to learn that? Can't a guy be a little old fashioned?"

"I don't think you can claim to be old fashioned if you own a glass dildo named Veronica."

"I'm regretting ever telling you about that." Kurt crossed his arms, frowning. "Okay, so maybe I've been thinking about this a little more recently. Maybe a lot more. Besides Blaine, Mr. That's Why They Invented Masturbation, this is the first opportunity I've ever had to not be a virgin. I just want to make sure everything is... right. I mean, don't you think I should be in love, for my first time?"

"Uh..." Finn gave him a funny look.

Kurt waved a hand. "I know, I know, it's an archaic concept, but my dad gave me this talk once, and..."

"Kurt." Finn nudged him with his foot. "I've only been here four days, but I've been watching you guys together. Don't you think it's possible you're in love, now?"

Kurt sighed. "Finn, I told you, this is different. I know you don't really understand, but love has nothing to do with it."

"No? Maybe you're right. Or maybe  _you're_  the one who doesn't understand." He was making Kurt uncomfortable, with that insightful  _stare_  of his. "Were you in love with Blaine?"

"I - I don't know," he said.

"Have you ever been in love with anybody?"

"How is this helping, Finn?" Kurt snapped. "Does it really matter what words I use? The results are the same. Puck's looking for something, and I happen to be able to give it to him. For now. When the contract's up, he'll move on. I have to be prepared for that. I can't - can't make this more than what it is."

"I guess." Then Finn shook his head. "No, man... I can't accept that. You're telling me that just because something's going to end, you shouldn't enjoy the hell out of it? Well, shit, Kurt;  _everything's_  going to end." He glanced at the bathroom, where Puck was showering. "It's been four days, Kurt, and I'm saying I've never seen you like this before."

Kurt was silent, staring at the table. "I've... never kissed him."

"You what?"

"Puck. Well, twice, on the forehead. But I've never  _actually_ kissed him. I thought... well, I guess I thought that was a line I shouldn't cross. Like, kissing him would be too much like the kind of thing boyfriends do."

Finn gave a little snort. "What, and orgasms aren't?"

"Maybe.  _God."_  Kurt buried his face in his hands. "I'm supposed to be the one in charge, and I have no idea what I'm  _doing."_

"Okay, so." Finn sat forward with purpose. "Your goal here has been to get Puck some training as a slave. You've done that. The rest, neither of you expected that, right? So that's new territory. Now you need a new tactical plan. You've accomplished your goal; what's the next one?"

Kurt gave Finn a suspicious sideways glance. "The military did things to you, didn't it?"

"Nah," said Finn. "I've always been like this. Come on, what's the new goal? How about  _appreciate what you have, while you have it?"_

"How about you let me handle this, and stop micromanaging my Marketplace career?" Kurt suggested. He looked up as Puck walked out of the bathroom in a towel, looking delicious and steamy. Finn watched as Kurt tracked his progress across the room, grinning as he went.

"How about I wait for Rachel in her room and you guys go out to the club?" Finn said. "Seriously, whatever you  _call_  it, you're kind of crazy hot for each other."

Kurt opened up his mouth to argue against this, and then he paused. He raised his voice to carry around the bookshelf. "Puck, you want to go to a gay leather club with your pretend boyfriend and get ogled on the dance floor?"

"Dude," came Puck's enthusiastic reply. "I'm all about being ogled, sir. Whatever that is."

"Perfect." Finn smiled. "We both get a date."

* * *

Kurt spent the rest of the evening happily dressing Puck up in various harnesses and leather garments. Puck drew the line at chaps over his jeans ("I'd sweat like a motherfucker.") but he seemed satisfied with the simple four-strap harness Kurt tried on him first, and jeans with cowboy boots. Kurt went with classic navy blazer, slacks and a tight blue t-shirt.

"I'll take you to Rush, in Manhattan," Kurt decided. "You can wear your collar there, and there won't be any questions."

 _Questions_  were not the problem, as it turned out. Puck was a tasty treat, with plenty of admirers, but Kurt found himself surrounded by suitors of every age and persuasion. He did a lot of smiling and shaking his head.

Puck eventually murmured, "I'll sit this set out, sir. You go ahead." He took a stool at the bar, smiling at Kurt, giving him a little wave, and Kurt was... single, on the dance floor.

The first couple of men just brushed by him, responding to his polite  _no, thanks._ And then there was one, dark and curly-haired, and not a whole lot taller than Blaine had been, and it was just too much for Kurt to resist. He closed with him as they writhed on the dance floor, taking his hips in his hands, and the man leaned into him, his erection obvious through his tight jeans.

"I'm Gavin," he said into Kurt's ear, or at least that's what Kurt thought he heard, though he supposed it could have been Gabe. "You're really hot."

"You, too," Kurt said, breathless. Why hadn't he been doing this all along? Finn had been right. He was lonely, and this was perfectly -

He caught sight of Puck leaning back against the bar, arching his back, his nipple ring glinting in the colored lights. Kurt had to stop dancing.

"What is it, gorgeous?" said Gavin-maybe-Gabe. He followed Kurt's eyes.

 _No, that's Puck's name,_  he wanted to say, but it wouldn't have made any sense. "That," he said instead, pointing. "That's... my boyfriend. At the bar. The one in the harness."

"Oh." Gabe-maybe-Gavin smiled again, a little more sheepishly. "It was worth a try, anyway."

"Yeah," Kurt agreed, but he was already aiming himself at Puck, directing himself across the dance floor, dodging the assortment of beautiful, utterly forgettable men in his path. He knew what his goal was, now.

"Puck," he called, when he was within earshot. Puck turned his head from his conversation, startled.

"S- Kurt," he said. Kurt reached out and took his hand.

"Come on," he said. "Come here. I require you."

Puck caught his breath, and his eyes widened, the pupils dilating. "Yes, sir."

Kurt led him out to the dance floor, where he found a miraculously empty space for the two of them to stand. They really didn't need much room, because Kurt was pulling Puck against him, pressing as much of their bodies together as he could get away with. He felt Puck shudder.

"I don't want any of these guys," Kurt said. "I want you."

"You have me, sir," Puck said immediately. "Whatever you need."

Kurt knew the thrumming inside him, the feeling of truth, that Puck meant it, and would go on meaning it.  _Every day for the next four and a half months. That's a long time. You could have that, or - not. What's it going to be?_

"Come here," he said again, even though they were already nearly as close as they could be. There was one more thing he could take, here at the bar. The rest would have to wait until they got home.

Kurt slipped his fingers into the fringe of Puck's hair, feeling the fine sheen of sweat, and cupped his head, pulling it toward him. He paused, their lips just brushing, watching Puck's eyes widen just a tiny bit before they dropped closed, and Puck surrendered his mouth to him.

He didn't realize they'd stopped dancing until a well-meaning fellow crashed into them, knocking their lips apart. Kurt found himself cupping Puck's face, and Puck was dazed and smiling, and Kurt was happier than he ever remembered being.

"Dance with me," Kurt said. Puck went with his body, following Kurt's long strides with his own, like a tango, and Kurt held him up with his arms. He stroked his collar, making Puck moan in a completely indecent way, but nobody on the dance floor seemed to be objecting.

They danced like that, if you could even call it dancing, for a long while, slow and dirty and completely lost in one another. Every now and then Kurt would notice other men watching them, obviously envious, many smiling, and he wanted to pull them aside and say,  _See him? He's mine. He belongs to me. Wouldn't you let him in your bed every night for the next four and a half months, if he wanted it?_

And the answer, of course, was yes.

When that song ended, Kurt took Puck by the hand and walked with him off the dance floor. "Next time we do this," Kurt told him, "I'm bringing the lead. And you won't leave my side all night. Nor will you tonight. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Puck replied, his eyes full of Kurt and nothing else.

"We're going home now." Kurt headed for the subway, still holding tight to Puck's hand.  _Mine,_  he thought again, dreamily, and when Puck paused on the first step of the descending escalator, Kurt took the opportunity to kiss him again, hard and urgent. Puck whimpered the whole way down.

"K-Kurt," he said shakily, but Kurt stopped his mouth with his fingers.

"Call me sir," he said. "You still belong to me."

Puck's lips formed the word  _sir_ , but he didn't say it aloud.

Kurt didn't want them to get thrown off the train, so he sat Puck in one of the back rows, standing beside him. This had the effect of keeping Puck lower than he was, not to mention putting Puck at eye-level with Kurt's zipper. Kurt wasn't going to let him do anything on the subway, but it did keep his focus sharp. At one point, Puck leaned in and rested his head on Kurt's hip, exhaling.

"You were so beautiful out there, dancing," Puck said. "I didn't take my eyes off you. Until the end, there, when you snuck up on me, sir."

Kurt smiled, pulling Puck closer, holding him against his stomach. "I think I had to take my eyes off you to realize what I wanted."

Puck glanced up at him. "Yeah?" he said softly. "What's that, sir?"

 _I own him,_  Kurt thought. He leaned down and kissed him gently, once. "I'm going to take you home and show you."

* * *

Puck woke the next morning to a familiar, satisfying ache inside himself, and before he even spoke a word, the phrase on the tip of his tongue was,  _Fucking awesome._  He chuckled, and Kurt stirred in the bed beside him.

"What time is it?" he heard.

"Uh... eight-thirty, sir."

Kurt groaned. "You've got a particularly vicious sense of humor, getting me up four hours after we went to bed."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure we didn't fall asleep for at least another hour after that." He reached out from the bed and took the guitar from its stand, playing through the chords for the song that had been in his head when he'd awakened. It wasn't anything they would have heard at the dance club. He wasn't even sure if Kurt would know this one, because Billy Joel wrote it twenty years before they were born.

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrirVgYw58E>

_Baby, all the lights are turned on you  
_ _Now you're in the center of the stage  
_ _Everything revolves on what you do  
_ _Ah, you are in your prime  
_ _You've come of age  
_ _You can always have your way somehow  
_ _'Cause everybody loves you now_

 _You can walk away from your mistakes  
_ _You can turn your back on what you do  
_ _Just a little smile is all it takes  
_ _And you can have your cake and eat it too  
_ _Loneliness will get to you somehow  
_ _But everybody loves you now_

 _Ah, they all want your white body  
_ _And they await your reply  
_ _Ah, but between you and me and the Staten Island ferry  
_ _So do I_

Kurt was propped on his elbows, watching, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead when Puck turned to face him. He was smiling, though, which Puck took to be a good sign. It wasn't a nice song, but he thought it was appropriate, anyway, and he hoped Kurt would took it in the spirit in which it was meant.

 _All the people want to know your name  
_ _Soon there will be lines outside your door  
_ _Feelings do not matter in your game  
_ _'Cause nothing's gonna touch you anymore  
_ _So your life is only living anyhow  
_ _And everybody loves you now_

 _Close your eyes when you don't want to see  
_ _And stay at home when you don't want to go  
_ _Only speak to those who will agree  
_ _Yeah, and close your mind when you don't want to know  
_ _You have lost your innocence somehow  
_ _But everybody loves you now_

 _Ah, you know that nothing lasts forever  
_ _And it's all been done before  
_ _Ah, but you ain't got the time  
_ _To go to Cold Spring Harbor no more_

 _See how all the people gather 'round  
_ _Hey, isn't it a thrill to see them all crawl  
_ _Keep your eyes ahead and don't look down  
_ _Yeah, and lock yourself inside your sacred wall  
_ _This is what you wanted, ain't you proud  
_ _'Cause everybody loves you now_

Kurt clapped gently when he was done. "Referring to my string of admirers last night, I presume."

"You have to admit, there were kind of a lot of them."

"And they all want my white body?"

"Mmmm." Puck found himself suddenly lost in the memory of Kurt's strong, gentle hands, lifting Puck's right leg over his shoulder to afford a closer angle as he slid deeper inside him. He watched Kurt stretch with obvious appreciation.

"I bet Finn and Rachel are still asleep," Kurt yawned. "They're not  _insane."_

"They also probably weren't up until 5:30 fucking, sir," said Puck, just to watch Kurt catch his breath. He set his guitar down carefully, then leaned in to kiss him.

"It was good," Kurt said, kind of like a question, but not really.

"It was good," Puck confirmed. "Yeah, it was  _good._  And it'll just get better, sir, so -"

"No!" Kurt shook his head vehemently. "No, sorry, it can't get any better. I'll never do anything  _else."_

Puck sighed, lying back down in the curve of Kurt's arm. "Sounds perfect to me, sir."

* * *

They said goodbye to Finn that week amid smiles, but Rachel was a predictable wreck for the next couple days. Rachel being a wreck, of course, meant early morning workouts and more determined efforts to do everything perfectly.

"Is she going to be okay, sir?" asked Puck one morning while they were getting dressed, after a few days of this. Kurt smiled sadly.

"I don't even know what that means. She's committed to him, and that means she'll get through it, no matter how hard it gets. I don't think it even occurs to her to stop trying."

Puck nodded, looking thoughtful. "I guess I wonder what kind of ending she's looking for. Why isn't he  _here,_  if they're in love?"

"Living in New York isn't cheap. I can't imagine he could find a job that would pay him enough to be able to afford an apartment." Kurt paused. "You mean - wait."

"Yeah," Puck said, nodding harder. "Yeah, I mean here. We could manage, sir."

"Puck," Kurt said desperately, "we're already three people in six hundred square feet of loft. You really want to add a fourth to that? Not to mention the two of them are not the easiest people to live with. Rachel went bugnuts after four days."

"Yeah, and she's so much happier without him? Don't you think love matters more than that?" Puck looked a little reproachful. "Yeah, I know it would mean more crowded, and more for me to cook and clean up. I don't think I care. Finn's my best friend. I want him to be happy, too. Sir."

Kurt rubbed his face with one hand. "I'll think about it. Come on, we don't want to miss our train." He leaned over and kissed Puck. "You're a very good friend."

"Yeah, well." Puck turned away, putting his shirt on. "I won't be here all that long. You'd be back to three eventually. That's doable."

"Yes," said Kurt softly. "I suppose we can manage three just fine."

Rachel's response to the idea was more surprising. First she hugged Kurt, then Puck. Then she looked them both in the eye. "I really love Finn," she said. "And I want him here more than anything. But I need to wait until he's ready to come to me."

"Are you sure he knows he could do that?" Puck asked. "Maybe he hasn't even considered it."

"It could be," she agreed. "I need to wait. It has to be his decision. He told me to follow my dreams, here to New York, and I did that. Kurt, Puck, you did, too. I need to let him find his own dreams, and if they include me, he'll let me know. Until then, I just have to wait."

Puck still looked troubled. "How long will you wait?"

"As long as he's still part of my dreams," she said. "I'm not giving up on him."


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt was completely silent all the way home on the subway. The weather was getting colder, but so far they hadn't seen any snow. Puck assumed the weather wasn't the reason for Kurt not talking to him, but it was a safe topic to start with on the brief walk from the station to their apartment. "You think it might snow before Christmas, sir?"

"Your bet's as good as mine," said Kurt. He looked at their joined hands. "My dad invited me home for the holidays. Cassie said I can go."

Puck nodded. "I don't think my Ma expects me, but I bet she would like it if I showed up. Rachel's going with her dads to Key West. You want to take the train back to Lima, sir?"

Kurt stopped on the sidewalk, reaching for his other hand. "You understand I can't tell my dad about this."

Puck nodded again, more slowly. "This. Meaning... the Marketplace? Or meaning us?"

"Both. Either. I don't know." Kurt started walking again, then stopped, turning back to him. "I don't know what to tell him, but... I can't imagine explaining how you're sleeping with me without telling him the rest."

"Can't I just be your boyfriend, like I am with the rest of the soft world?" Puck squeezed his hand. "What's the problem here?"

"The problem hasn't changed, Puck," Kurt snapped. "We have four months."

"Yeah. And the first two have been pretty fucking amazing, sir. I could stand another four of those. Unless you have a different idea."

Kurt kept walking. "You're far too reasonable," he grumbled. "I don't know whether I should discipline you or take you to bed for the next hour."

"How about both, sir?" Puck offered, grinning, following him into the apartment.

* * *

They did take the train, which took almost twenty-six hours to deliver them to Lima around midnight. Burt was there to meet them.

"Noah Puckerman," he said, shaking his hand. "Nice to see you again. Kurt told me the two of you ran into each other in New York. Small town, huh?"

"Rachel and Kurt were nice enough to give me a place to crash for the last couple months," he said, smiling. "It's been great."

"Well, I'm sure your mother will be glad to see you." He beamed at Kurt. "I know I'm glad to have my boy home."

"I invited him to join us for Christmas dinner," Kurt said. Burt looked surprised, but he nodded.

"Sure, of course. You're welcome. Plenty of food." He watched Kurt hug Puck with growing confusion. "You want me to drop you off at your house, Puck? Or is it Noah now?"

"Still Puck. Nah, I'm not too far from here. It's not so cold. I'll see you later, Kurt." He offered a smile and a wave, then shouldered his bag, picked up his guitar, and headed down the street.

"What's going on here, Kurt?" asked Burt. Kurt tore his eyes away from Puck's retreating figure, already feeling the stirring of unease at their separation, to see his father frowning at him. "Christmas dinner? That's always been a family thing."

"Dad..." he began, and watched Burt's eyes grow wide. "Puck and I... for the past two months, we've been..."

"Kurt," Burt protested. He took one of Kurt's suitcases and headed for the car. "Two  _months?_  With Noah  _Puckerman?_  You didn't even tell me."

"It only got serious in the last month or so," Kurt said, which was nothing but a lie, and he knew his dad could see that. He tried again. "I didn't think you'd understand. He's not really my type."

"I'll say. I never would have pegged  _him_  for gay."

"Me, neither," Kurt sighed. "It's been a little surprising, but Puck... we're making it work. Rachel knows all about it, and Finn, and they're fine with it."

Burt climbed into the Navigator, looking Kurt hard in the face. "And you, Kurt? Are you fine with it?"

Kurt closed his eyes and felt his skin's longing for contact with him. "I've never been happier," he said honestly. "This relationship is giving me something I've always needed."

Burt smiled, surprised. "You think you're in love?"

"I don't know. I don't think there's any way to know that yet." Kurt looked out the window at the familiar landscape, the city he'd left behind. He didn't miss it. It was good to be here, but it wasn't home anymore. Home was something else. "I think we'll have to wait and see. I'm trying to take it one day at a time."

"That's the only thing you can do," his dad agreed. "Well, I'm glad you told me now, but next time, try to drop the big bombs during daylight hours, okay? Carole's going to have a fit that she's the last to know."

* * *

Finn's first question when he got to the house was, "Where's Puck?"

"He's staying with his mom," Kurt said. He hugged Finn, then looked quizzically at his expression. "What?"

"How are you guys going to handle... you know?" Finn dropped his voice. "The touching thing. Aren't you going to go crazy, being away from him?"

"Maybe. I don't know what else to do, though." Kurt wheeled his suitcase to the stairs and lugged it downstairs, Finn following with the other one. "Dad would never be okay with him sleeping over."

"Probably not. But you could have him over tomorrow, during the day. Or, oh! He could spend the night with me, playing video games or something, and -"

"Finn," Kurt said wearily. "I just need a little time to think about this. It's not that I don't appreciate your help. I've been on the train for a whole day. Can I get some sleep?"

"Yeah, sure." But Finn still looked worried. Kurt didn't blame him, but he couldn't handle Finn's enthusiasm just then. He closed the door to his room firmly.

Then he took his phone out and sent Puck a text.  _Home now. You get in okay?_

_Fine, sir. Your dad cool?_

_I think so._ He paused, his gut clenching, and added, _You think you could come over later?_

_You mean through the garage door?_

Kurt stared at the words.  _There's a key under the oil can,_  he tapped out slowly.

_I know._

Kurt opened the door to his bedroom again, and peered into the dark family room - and nearly screamed as arms surrounded him, grabbing him tight.

"My Ma can wait one more day, sir," Puck whispered into Kurt's hair. "I can't be away from you yet."

Kurt didn't wait for more words. He just maneuvered Puck into the bedroom and closed the door again, kissing him hard, stroking Puck's face. "My amazing, resourceful boy... did you follow me home?"

"It's not so far, sir," he shrugged. "I did okay. There's no snow here yet, either."

"Well, I told my dad you were coming to Christmas dinner. And... that you're my boyfriend, and that's going to have to be enough for now."

"I can be anything you need me to be," Puck promised, his lips on Kurt's neck. "All you have to do is tell me what you want."

Kurt slipped his hands inside Puck's shirt, smiling at his response. "I think I'll just take it."

* * *

"Puck left his guitar out in the family room last night," Finn whispered to Kurt at breakfast. "But I put it in my room. I don't think mom or Burt saw it."

"Okay. Thanks." Kurt waited until Carole and his dad were out of the room, then turned to Finn. "Dad mentioned something about shopping today? What, was he kidding? I'm going to want to come to  _Ohio_  and shop, when I live in New York?"

Finn shrugged, crunching into a spoonful of cereal. "Don't ask me. I just smile and nod. And I think you can justify bringing your boyfriend shopping. This is you, after all."

But Puck didn't answer Kurt's texts until after they'd already headed out toward Columbus.  _My Nana's keeping me today,_  Kurt read, as they pulled onto the highway.  _I'm not sure how to say no to my Nana._

Kurt sighed, dropping his head back on the seat of the car.  _It's okay,_  he replied.  _I know it's not your fault._

_I'm not in trouble, sir?_

_You're still my good boy. Let me know when you can get away, or if I should plan to swoop in and rescue you at some point._

"Any word from Puck?" Finn asked.

"He's busy with family affairs," said Kurt.

Burt wasn't very sympathetic. "We only get you for five days, Kurt, and I'm sure Puckerman's family is feeling the same way. Give your old man a break."

Kurt felt like kicking the seat in front of him and pouting, but that wasn't going to get him any closer to Puck. His phone buzzed.

_Hanging in there. Miss you, sir._

He gazed at those words, trying not to make any big deal about it, but all he could think of was Puck with his family, trying to cope with the stress of being apart.  _Miss you, sir._

Kurt shot a desperate look at Finn, who mouthed  _sorry_  at him, and set about chewing his manicured nails to bits. By the time they reached the Columbus Easton Town Center, several of them were down to the quick.

Carole put a hand on his shoulder as they got out of the car, looking concerned. "Finn tells me you're having a hard time right now," she murmured. "Is it about Puck? Is something wrong?"

"I don't think I can explain it, Carole," he said, hearing his own voice come out tense and anxious. He put his arms around himself, holding on. It wasn't a substitute for Puck's touch, but he thought otherwise he might very well fracture into pieces. "Nothing's... wrong, exactly." He shivered. "Can you go into withdrawal from a person?"

"I think we've all been there." She smiled understanding at him. "Where is he now?"

"At his Nana's house," said Kurt, sounding so glum that she laughed. He groaned. "I'm completely embarrassed by this."

"Don't be," she assured him. "When you're in love, it's impossible to be rational. It's just about what you need."

He didn't know how to explain to her that he wasn't in love, because for all intents and purposes, it did look and feel and sound an awful lot like love. "Unfortunately, what I need is to be in the same physical space as him, 24/7. At home we can mostly manage that, but here..."

"Don't tell me you're together every day, all day?" Carole's tone was teasing.

"No, really, they actually are," Finn interjected. "Maybe a half hour apart here and there. They can barely take showers alone."

She covered her surprise well, and gave Kurt a perfect concerned mother look. Kurt threw up his hands. "I told you, I don't think I can explain it! I'm not crazy. I just -" He clamped his lips shut on the phrase that threatened to leap out.  _I just need him._ It felt so much more absurd to admit that here, at an Ohio shopping center. He took a deep breath, and then another one.  _I can do this._

Kurt followed his family around, trying to smile, trying to remember the appropriate responses to simple questions, trying to appear as normal as he could, but knowing by their reactions that he was failing miserably. Burt was annoyed; Finn was apologetic; Carole was worried. At lunch he tried to eat, but had to stop halfway through his sandwich, pushing it away.

"Kurt, this moping around has to stop," his dad snapped.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, bowing his head. "I know - it sucks. I'm not doing it on purpose. Please believe me that I'm doing the best I can."

Burt muttered something about drama queens, but Carole pulled him aside and spoke to him quietly, and he subsided. She came over and knelt in front of Kurt.

"You're really hurting," she said. He nodded, trying to will the tears away, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I don't want spending time with your family to be painful. What can I do?"

"It's not you," he insisted. "You're wonderful. It's Puck. He's going to be hurting more than me, it's worse for him, and I can't be  _here_  while he's hurting." He stared at Carole, grasping her hands. "I have to fix this. It's my responsibility."

"Can I take you to him?"

It was a tempting idea, but Kurt shook his head regretfully. "He's busy with his family, and this isn't something we can really manage quietly or quickly. I don't think I can interrupt his afternoon."

"Well, let me distract you, at least." Carole took him by the arm and led him into Abercrombie & Fitch. "Tell me what I could wear that would make your dad go  _wow._ "

Kurt eyed the stick-thin mannequins. "You're beautiful, Carole, but this is probably not your store. Still... let me see what I can find."

She kept him successfully occupied for the next forty-five minutes, but as Kurt was comparing Carole's skin tone to three different aqua scarves, he received a text from Puck:

_Can't do this. Please. Need you._

"Okay, I think I like this one the best - Kurt?" Carole's hand shot out and grabbed his arm as he stumbled back against the counter. "What's happening?"

Kurt shook his head, trying to stay calm. "I don't know. I have to call him." He put the phone up to his ear and walked out of the store, standing in the center of the mall, doing something he never, ever did: praying.  _Please, please, just pick up._

"Kurt." Puck's voice was flat, but Kurt immediately felt a wave of relief, just to hear that one word.

"I'm here." He cupped the phone tighter to his face, trying to hear every nuance in Puck's voice. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing. Nothing happened. I'm just - here, with my Ma and Sarah and my Nana, and I'm fucking  _drowning._  I can't breathe."

Kurt tried for an appropriate balance between commanding and soothing. "Yes, you can. Take one breath. Now let it out. Okay... one more. Just focus on that." He gripped his own wrist so tightly, he left half-moons indented in his skin.

"Kurt..." This time his name came out as a whisper. "I don't belong here anymore."

Kurt closed his eyes. "I know, honey. I know just how that feels. We'll go home in just a few days. It's going to be fine. You can do this."

"No," he said, with startling vehemence. " _No,_  I really can't, Kurt. You're the strong one. I'm the piece of shit useless one who can't even pick up my guitar without bursting into fucking tears, because you're not here for me to sing to."

"Oh." Kurt swallowed his sentimental tears. "That's... Puck."

"I know. I'm not  _like_  this, Kurt. I don't get like this. I'm kind of freaking out about that, too, but... I don't care. I'm crying in front of my Ma and I don't even  _care._ " He took a ragged breath. "So I'm desperate enough now to call you and admit I failed. I tried to give you some time alone with your family, and I failed at that, and... I'm sorry, sir. I'll take whatever punishment you give me. Just, please..."

Kurt tried to sort through the feelings that were bombarding him. Concern for Puck, and an overwhelming protectiveness, were primary. Pride, in Puck's ability to admit he needed something, anything. His own longing to hold him, to tell him it would be okay, at least for now. He set his jaw. "Tell me where you are."

When he was done with his conversation, Carole was there at the entrance to Abercrombie & Fitch, holding her purchases. "Is everything all right, Kurt?"

"No," he said, "but it will be. I have to ask you for a favor, and it's kind of a big one."

"I told you I'd drive you anywhere you need to go," said Carole, but Kurt shook his head.

"That's only part of it, but thank you. I need you to talk my dad into this." He was already putting on his coat.

"Into what?"

"Into letting Puck's family come over for Christmas."

* * *

 _GPS says ten more minutes,_  said Kurt's text.  _Don't make yourself sick again._

 _I'll try,_  Puck replied. He blew his nose. One advantage, at least, to falling apart remotely like this was that Kurt didn't have to see his red, teary face and snotty nose.  _Are you sure this is okay?_

_My dad's kind of pissed, but Carole will fix it. He doesn't mind having people over; it's that he wants me to be focused on things happening in Lima._

_Yeah. I'm not doing so well at that. You neither?_

_Not when you need me,_ said Kurt. _That's the most important thing._

Puck groaned quietly, tossing the phone on the floor by the couch.

"You're really dating Finn's stepbrother?"

He looked up to see Sarah frowning at him. She perched on the arm of the couch, right next to him. It was close enough for him to kick her if she said something obnoxious, but he wasn't even sure if he was up for that.

"Kind of," he said.

"That's  _kind of_ fucked up," she said, matter-of-factly.

"You don't know the half of it," he agreed. "But I'm pretty fucked up, you know?"

"I know." She leaned on an elbow on her knee. "And he wants us to come over tomorrow? Why?"

"Because he knows I need to be around him." Puck wiped his eyes one more time. "And he knows Ma is doing everything she can to keep me to herself, and this is his compromise. He's taking care of it."

"Is this about why you went to New York without telling anybody?"

Puck squinted through bleary, bloodshot eyes at Sarah. "You're way too fucking intuitive. Yeah, it's about that. And you can't hear anything more until you're older, so don't bother asking."

"I don't care about that stuff, just like I don't care if you're gay or whatever. I just missed you, and it sucked being here without you." She glared at him. "You were the only good thing about Lima, and now I have to deal with  _Jake_  every day at school, and he's such a douchebag."

"Don't," Puck said, rubbing his forehead. "He's doing the best he can, and he didn't have a sister to help him. Fuck knows what kind of a mess dad left when he abandoned  _them."_

Puck's eyes snapped back to his phone as it buzzed.  _Pulling off the highway now. Five minutes. Wash your face, and get your guitar._

_Yes, sir._

He rose to his feet to stumble into the bathroom, but Sarah grabbed his arm before he could leave the room. She looked - scared.

"He's not hurting you, is he?" she demanded, her voice fierce. "I saw those bruises on your neck and your back, and I figured, maybe he was... hitting you."

Puck couldn't help it. He laughed. "Yeah," he said. "He is. And it's awesome." He took her by both shoulders, giving her a little shake, and stared right into her eyes, so she would see he was telling the truth. "I am totally fucking happy."

"Wow," she whispered, eyes wide. "That's pretty fucked up." She cocked her head. "Have you  _ever_  felt happy like this before? Because I'm pretty sure that's a new look for you."

"Happy, yeah, I've felt that. But... safe?" He shook his head. "Never."

And then the doorbell rang, and Puck took off down the hallway to the front door, pushing past everything in his way to be there to open it, to be welcomed into arms that held him tight, that had become his whole fucking  _world._

"I'm here," Kurt whispered, and Puck suspended himself in the sound of those syllables.

"Thank you," he whispered back.

Eventually, his Ma's cajoling and his Nana's peevish comments summoned him back into the land of the hopelessly midwestern. He kept a tight hold on Kurt's hand as he turned to his Ma.

"Ma, this is Kurt Hummel," he said, feeling the smile spread on his face. His Ma sighed.

"Yeah, I can already tell he fixed you. Well, Kurt, you'll have to tell me your magic formula, because nobody stops Noah mid-pout."

"Ma," he protested, but Kurt just fucking  _giggled._

"Pleased to meet you," he said, holding out his unoccupied hand. She shook it. "Sorry to disappoint you, but he doesn't do that around me."

"No?" His Ma glared at Puck, who couldn't even complain, not with Kurt right beside him, holding his hand. He grinned back at her. "You may be the first, then. It seems we're all going over to your house for dinner tomorrow evening, or something like that?"

"Yes," said Kurt. "You're welcome all day. I appreciate your willingness to change plans at the last minute. I hope it doesn't inconvenience you too much."

"It'll be fine, if you can make my Noah smile like that." She patted him on the cheek.

"Ma," Sarah hissed from the corner. "Leave them alone, already."

"All right, all right," she said with good humor, shooing them away. "You go on. I'll be in here, with  _my_  mother, being  _social."_

"It's fine," Sarah assured Puck, as they headed for the hallway. "I'll keep her occupied with Scrabble."

Kurt's hand was warm on his back as Puck retrieved his guitar. "This is really okay?" he asked, but his focus was entirely on Puck, eyes and mouth and hands hovering less than six inches from his body at all times.

"Yeah, it's fine. She doesn't care what we do. Kurt, I -"

"Shhh." Kurt brushed his fingertips over Puck's face, his lips, up his cheeks to his temples, provoking a new round of tears. These, at least, didn't feel painful. "You didn't wash your face. Go get a wet washcloth and bring it to me."

Puck darted into the hallway and grabbed a cloth from the linen closet, wetting it in the bathroom sink. Sarah stopped in the doorway and shook her head in apparent amazement.

"What the fuck did he  _do_  to you?" she hissed. "One minute you're freaking out, the next you're grinning like an idiot?"

"All better," he agreed, wringing out the washcloth. "There's nothing else I need."

He closed the bedroom door behind him and put the cloth in Kurt's hands. "Sir," he tried again, but Kurt wouldn't let him speak. This time it was his mouth in the way, hard and urgent on Puck's. Kurt wound his arms around Puck's head and pushed him down so he was sitting on the bed, straddling him. Then he sat back again, wiping the cloth across his tear-stained cheeks, his eyelids, his neck. Puck shuddered.

"Just let me take care of you," Kurt said.

"God, Kurt, isn't that  _my_  job? I'm not supposed to be the one needing things here. Some pleasure slave I am."

Kurt smiled broadly, shaking his head. "You do please me. Puck... nothing pleases me more than you." He kissed him again, dropping the washcloth on the floor, then forcing him down flat on the bed, kneeling over him. "You're giving me exactly what I want, right now."

Puck moved his hands around to cup Kurt's ass, bringing their hips together, feeling Kurt's hardness grind against his own. "Oh, yeah? You sure about that?"

"I'm sure I'm not going to do anything more as long as your  _grandmother_  is awake and just down the hall." But he was smiling. "I think we'd better go be... social. And I can kick your ass at Scrabble."

"Forget that," said Puck. "I can barely spell. I'll stick to making the mood music while you guys play."

"That sounds perfect, honey." He gave Puck one more kiss, then climbed off him. But after he got his guitar out of its case, Kurt took his hand again, squeezing it. "How is your grandmother going to react to - this? Us?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "She's kind of unpredictable about stuff like this. But I'm guessing she wants me to be happy, and that might be more important than anything else?"

Puck turned out to be mostly right. His Nana glared at their joined hands, but Puck hung on, more out of defiance than need.

" _This_  is why you went to New York?" she said caustically, laying down tiles on the board to spell VERITY. "To live this kind of lifestyle?"

"Actually, yeah," Puck agreed. "I'm the luckiest guy. Kurt's really good to me."

Kurt's face was scarlet as he drew his seven tiles from the bag. "Why don't you play something before I burst into flames," he murmured.

Puck settled down contentedly on the floor next to Kurt's leg. "I know just the thing."

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XQzLOe_l-4>

_Call me a joker, call me a fool  
_ _Right at this moment I'm totally cool  
_ _Clear as a crystal, sharp as a knife  
_ _I feel like I'm in the prime of my life  
_ _Sometimes it feels like I'm going too fast  
_ _I don't know how long this feeling will last  
_ _Maybe it's only tonight_

 _Darling I don't know why I go to extremes  
_ _Too high or too low there ain't no in-betweens  
_ _And if I stand or I fall  
_ _It's all or nothing at all  
_ _Darling I don't know why I go to extremes_

 _Sometimes I'm tired, sometimes I'm shot  
_ _Sometimes I don't know how much more I've got  
_ _Maybe I'm headed over the hill  
_ _Maybe I've set myself up for the kill  
_ _Tell me how much do you think you can take  
_ _Until the heart in you is starting to break?  
_ _Sometimes it feels like it will_

 _Darling I don't know why I go to extremes  
_ _Too high or too low there ain't no in-betweens  
_ _You can be sure when I'm gone  
_ _I won't be out there too long  
_ _Darling I don't know why I go to extremes_

 _Out of the darkness, into the light  
_ _Leaving the scene of the crime  
_ _Either I'm wrong or I'm perfectly right every time  
_ _Sometimes I lie awake, night after night  
_ _Coming apart at the seams  
_ _Eager to please, ready to fight  
_ _Why do I go to extremes?_

* * *

Puck's mother gave Puck a hug before turning off the hallway light. She smiled at Kurt. "You were a good sport tonight. I can tell why Noah loves you."

Kurt let the comment pass, as he had so many others that night, and smiled back. "You're being so understanding. I really can't tell you how much this is helping."

"Oh, I can tell." She gave Puck a pointed look. "Don't stay up too late. Get to bed."

"We will, Ma." He kissed her, watching her retreat down the darkened hall. Then he leaned against Kurt, slipping back into his embrace. "Is there anything I can get you, sir?"

"I think it will have to involve the two of us and a whole lot of skin touching, as soon as possible," Kurt said. "I can't imagine my dad ever letting me do this at  _my_  house."

"Yeah, well, I think she's happier this way, knowing we're not driving drunk or trying to sneak around." They closed the door to Puck's bedroom. Within minutes there was a neat pile of shirts and jeans and socks on the floor, and they were tucked into Puck's narrow bed, wound around each other, almost as close as they could be.

"You're okay now." Kurt stroked Puck's head, kissing his neck, not demanding anything, just holding him, feeling the touch of his skin.

"Yeah," Puck agreed. "I really am." He pressed his face into Kurt's neck and sighed. "And I really do, you know?"

"Do what?"

"What my Ma said."

Kurt paused. "What?"

Puck curled in tighter. "I love you, okay?"

"Oh," Kurt said. He didn't sound happy, but he clutched Puck more securely to his chest.

"You don't have to believe me, or... or anything. I just wanted to make sure you heard me say it."

"Yes. Okay." Kurt kissed him, softly at first, then more passionately, as Puck felt himself unfolding, his tension dropping away again.

"I didn't really mean to," he said, gazing up at Kurt, trying to apologize as best as he could with Kurt's thigh tucked between his legs. "I told myself I wasn't ever going to let that happen again, but... I don't think I had a choice, here."

"I think that's what I'm afraid of." Kurt bit his lip, shaking his head. "You didn't really have a choice. How do you know it's..."

"Real?" Puck shrugged. "What the fuck is real anyway? And, Kurt, I did have a choice. You gave me a choice, when you handed me that lead and told me I was free. I said no."

Kurt smiled despite himself. "No, honey. You begged me."

"Yeah," whispered Puck. "I did. Please... sir, please. Let me love you."

Kurt's eyes closed. "God, how can I say no to that?"

"Don't," he implored. He brought his arms up around him, holding Kurt as tight as he dared. "Don't say no, sir. I can't help loving you, and - just tell me it's okay. Please."

"It's okay." Kurt's voice was soft, but he didn't sound uncertain. "Really. Anything you feel is okay. You're mine, and I'll take care of you, as long as you want that."

That was apparently the magic phrase, because it made Puck cry again, and Kurt held him until he was done. His tears mingled with their kisses and increasingly frantic rhythm.

"Tell me the sex shark keeps lube near his bed," Kurt said, biting his earlobe. Puck groped around under the edge of his mattress, coming up with a half-full bottle, and fumbled it into Kurt's hand. He laughed incredulously. "I was kidding."

"Just be glad nobody's cleaned this room since I left." Puck opened his legs to Kurt's fingers, whimpering a little at the aggressive pressure. "Fuck..."

"I liked that begging," Kurt said, adding another finger and thrusting hard. "Do that again."

Puck tried to keep his eyes open, but they kept rolling back into his head with every slick push. "Please, sir, I need your cock inside me,  _please."_

Kurt groaned, roughly spreading Puck's legs, gripping himself and filling him in one smooth motion. "You have no idea how hot that is."

Puck had no words after that, just the motion of their bodies together, until Kurt groaned again, thrusting more urgently.

"Love you," Puck gasped, feeling his own climax wash over him, unable to hold back the words any longer, "god, love you, sir, love you..."

Kurt shuddered, clutching him hard. But the shuddering didn't stop. It just went on, until Puck finally realized he was crying, long desperate sobs that shattered Puck's heart. He scrambled to hold Kurt in his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Kurt said, shaking, "I just - can't help it, I'm so sorry..."

"No," Puck insisted, "no, it's okay." He pressed a kiss to Kurt's cheek, right in front of his ear. "You don't have to worry. I've got you."

"But that's not how it's supposed to  _be,_ " Kurt cried. "I can't - I can't be scared, can't lose control..."

"You can do whatever the fuck you need to do." Puck squeezed him tighter. "I'm still going to love you."

"For now." Kurt shook in his arms. "For now."

"What the hell, sir? Isn't everything just  _for now?_  I could die tomorrow of a fucking brain aneurism, or you could get hit by a bus. I turned off my heart for two years. I don't want to  _do_  that anymore."

Kurt sat up, revealing his flushed, blotchy face, and looked at Puck in desperation. "Even if that means you're going to get your heart broken? Or break mine?"

"Yeah," Puck shot back. "Are you going to order me not to, sir? Because that's about the only thing I can think of that would keep me from going on with this."

Kurt stared at him. Then his gaze dropped to his lap. "No. I'm not."

"Yeah. Then I guess we'll just have to see what happens in four months." He gathered Kurt's hands in his, kissing them. "And I'm going to do whatever I can to make you happy in the meantime."

Kurt let out an exasperated laugh. "No. You're going to do whatever I tell you to do."

"Yes, sir," said Puck with an angelic smile, making Kurt laugh more and roll his eyes. "What would that be right now?"

Kurt burrowed down under the blankets. "Right now, you can lie down here with me and go to sleep."


	8. Chapter 8

Carole and Burt made enough food for an army of eaters, and Kurt knew a good deal of it would end up inside Finn. There was barely enough room for the platter Puck added to the spread on the kitchen table.

"Hanukkah's over, but my Ma and Nana figured they didn't get to cook for me this year, so they made my favorites," he said apologetically. "Latkes, and blueberry sufganiyot."

"I have no idea what those things are, but I'm happy to try them." Kurt gave Puck a quick kiss, aware of his dad introducing himself to Puck's Nana and greeting Puck's Ma and sister in the front hall. "I'm going to tell you in advance that we won't have much of a chance to be alone today."

Puck shrugged, filching an olive from the table. "Just means they're going to have to put up with me touching you all afternoon. At some point they're going to get sick of it and tell us to get lost, right?"

"My dad doesn't really  _encourage_  that kind of behavior," said Kurt. He watched Puck place the olive on his tongue with helpless fascination. "Not to mention I'm already feeling off-balance from being pretend boyfriends, instead of -"

Puck cut him off with another kiss, a longer one this time, bumping him back against the table. Kurt stopped himself with two hands gripping the table leaf, and tried not to squeak too loudly. Puck smiled.

"Pretty sure we're real boyfriends now, Kurt," he said softly, stroking Kurt's jaw. "Or maybe you and I don't have the same definition of  _I love you."_

Kurt's hand shot out and gripped Puck's wrist. He felt the rush of adrenaline -  _dangerous_  - and controlled his response to the surprise and uncertainty on Puck's face.

"Regardless of your feelings, I'm still in charge," Kurt replied, as steadily as he could. "You're going to behave yourself, or there will be consequences. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," whispered Puck. "Sorry."

He kept his eyes on Puck's. "If I wanted a boyfriend, I'd be dating a softworlder. This is what I want, and you're here to give it to me."

Kurt didn't miss the vaguely hurt look that Puck gave him, but he nodded, subdued. Kurt leaned in and kissed his cheek. "That's better."  _If only it were that easy to deal with my father._

Burt was, as he'd expected, perfectly charming to Mrs. Puckerman, Puck's Nana and Sarah, but he pulled Kurt aside the first chance he had that morning. "I don't know what was going on with you yesterday," he said, "but I hope you got it all out of your system. You look like you're doing better?"

"Better," Kurt agreed. He'd come back to his dad's house before seven, his back sore after spending the night spooning on Puck's twin bed. He already felt antsy from being apart from Puck, even for those few hours since he'd left, but the panic of yesterday had receded. "We don't really deal well with being separated."

"Yeah." Burt scratched his head. "That's beyond me, Kurt. I hope you know I like Puck just fine, but I also know what kind of a boy he was in high school. Forgive me if I'm feeling a little protective of my son."

"I don't need protecting, Dad." Kurt tried to give him the same steady, focused stare that he'd given Puck. It didn't have quite the same response, but his dad squeezed his shoulder, sighing.

"Yeah, probably not. You're old enough to look out for yourself, anyway. But  _don't_  think that you and Puckerman can just sneak off whenever you want today, all right? No closed doors."

"I'll control myself," Kurt said, hoping that would be enough of an answer to satisfy him. He just  _couldn't_  promise he wouldn't need a little time alone with Puck, but he wasn't going to ask for permission, either.

Carole and Puck's Ma took over dinner preparations and let Burt, Puck and Finn reinforce gender stereotypes as they went off to sit in the living room and watch football. This left Kurt to occupy Sarah and Puck's Nana. He gave them a bright smile and proposed a three-handed game of euchre at the dining room table - close enough to keep an eye on Puck and far enough away to pacify his father.

"So what do you do in New York, Kurt?" his Nana asked, shuffling the cards with a deft movement. "I seem to remember something about Noah being in Glee club with you in high school. Are you in theater?" She said  _theater_  like it was something you wouldn't want to encounter on the street after dark.

"Not currently," he said. "I'm working as an apprentice right now in organic commodities exchange." That phrase had made him choke with laughter the first time he'd heard it, but right now, it felt like an incredible relief to have something seemingly ordinary to hide behind.

Sarah gave him a keen look that made him wonder what she knew, but all she said was, "Sounds boring."

"Sarah," her Nana scolded. She fanned her cards. "You're in business, then?"

"It's been a meaningful endeavor for me," Kurt said, smiling. "I still love theater, though. Our roommate Rachel is at NYADA, studying musical performance. I can live vicariously through her. And Puck and I sing together every evening."

That made her smile. "Really? Perhaps the two of you might give us a little concert later."

"I think I might be able to get him to agree to that," said Kurt.

Sarah had the best poker face of any teenager Kurt had ever met. He lost handily to her, but she didn't gloat or anything, just crossed her arms and sat back, staring at him. Kurt glanced across the room at Puck, but he appeared engaged in arguing football plays with Finn.

"Rematch?" he suggested.

Nana pushed her chair out from the table. "Let me take a little break before the two of you attempt to massacre me again." She escaped to the hallway bathroom, leaving Sarah and Kurt alone.

Sarah inspected Kurt, her arms still crossed. "What's  _really_ going on between you and my brother?" she asked in a dangerous undertone.

Kurt blinked. "I don't understand."

"Cut the crap. I thought I knew my brother pretty well, but after graduation, he vanished to New York without an explanation. And he was completely freaking out yesterday. He doesn't do stuff like that."

"I don't either." Whether it was Sarah's resemblance to Puck or her no-nonsense attitude, Kurt felt like he could say this much. He leaned in closer across the table. "There's something between us, something I can't explain, that's drawing us together. We're dependent on one another."

She wrinkled her nose. "Something between you? How? You can't, like, sense each other's thoughts, can you?"

 _God, that would be scary._  "No, nothing like that. But if we're apart, we both get anxious. Being with him... he gives me something I need, and I give him something he needs."

The toilet flushed in the hallway, and they heard the sounds of running water. Sarah huffed. "Well, I've seen him with a lot of girls, and a lot of guys, but I've never seen him like  _this."_

"You -  _what?"_  Kurt was sure he must have misunderstood her, but Nana returned to the table, settling heavily into her chair, and Sarah retreated into silence, dealing the cards for the next hand. He didn't get another chance to talk to her alone until she'd won the second game and they were cleaning up the table for dinner.

"Forgive me," Kurt murmured, as they spread the tablecloth, "but did you say Puck dated  _boys?"_

Sarah shook her head. "No, he never dated any of them. He just had them over to the house and messed around in his room."

"Messed around," Kurt echoed. "You mean like -"

"Dude." She glared at him. "You should really talk to  _Noah_  about this. You're not getting anything more out of me."

She was right, of course, and Kurt blushed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the tablecloth. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well." She moved close enough to drop to a whisper, her voice sharp and deadly. "You're playing with something complicated here. I can't really tell what it is, but Noah's crazy in love with you and you'd better not break his heart or I'm going to have to  _seriously_  hurt you."

Kurt could barely swallow to stammer out a denial. But how could he say he wasn't going to break Puck's heart? They'd practically agreed to do that exact thing to one another, in just under four months. He ducked into the kitchen, simply to get away from Sarah's accusing glare.

When he came out, carrying a stack of plates, napkins and silverware, Puck was there, smiling at him hopefully, brushing his elbow with one hand. "Can I help?"

"Take these," Kurt said, transferring the stack to Puck's arms. "And maybe set up a neutral zone between me and your sister. She's got a vendetta against me."

"She's just protecting her big brother," said Puck. "I think you could take her, if it came to that... sir."

Kurt glanced around, but luckily no one else was in the dining room at the moment. "Not okay," he hissed.

"Nobody's listening," Puck protested. "You're not seriously worried about a fourteen-year-old kid? If anybody in my family would understand about the Marketplace, it'd be her. She's sharp."

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath. "Yes, she was apparently sharp enough to know about all kinds of  _guys_  you had over to your house back in high school."

Puck's face colored, and he looked away. "Yeah, well... not all of us were brave enough to be out like you were. I took what I could get. You'd be surprised to find out how many desperate closet cases there are in high school football."

He stared at Puck. "So it was true. God, I should have known."

"What do you mean by that?" Puck said, his eyes narrowing.

Kurt shook his head. "Just - forget it. Forget I said anything. Let's just try to get through this dinner."

"No, I want to know what you were going to say!" Puck followed him into the front hall, away from the listening ears of their family members. He looked outraged. "You've got some kind of judgment to make about me, you might as well make it now."

"Puck," Kurt said, trying to hold him, to touch his shoulders, but Puck pulled away furiously.

"You think I don't know what people said about me in high school? I think  _manwhore_  was the kindest. Yeah, I had a  _lot_ of sex, with a lot of people - girls, boys, women, men, couples - I went to some really kinky clubs in Chicago before I went to juvie and had my fake ID taken away. Ask me if I regret any of it." He made a grand, violent gesture. "Go on,  _Kurt,_  ask me."

Kurt held himself as still as he could, not wanting to startle him any further. "Do you?"

Puck brought his face right up to Kurt's, close enough to feel his breath. "Not one minute. You know why?" He grimaced as the tears threatened to fall, blinking them away. "Because everything I learned, I can give to  _you._  It's all just been leading here, right now, right to you."

"Hey!" They both looked up to see Finn standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised. He looked between Kurt and Puck. "I'm pretty sure you can't talk to him that way, man."

"I can handle this, Finn," Kurt said quietly.

"Yeah, you just don't want to hear it," Puck snapped. "You're too afraid of what's going to happen when this is over. Well, who says it has to be over? Just rewrite the contract, right? One year... two..." He put out an empty hand. "You said you'll take care of me, as long as I want that. What if I want it forever?"

"No," blurted Kurt. "Puck... I can't do that."

"Yes, you  _can,"_  he shouted. Kurt flinched, tasting bile. He gripped Puck's hand, hard.

"I can't - I can't keep doing this to you, not knowing if it's real or not. I can't let you pretend this is more than it is, when I don't even  _know_  if you're right _._ " Kurt sought understanding in Puck's hazel eyes, but he could see only desperation, and pain, and, ultimately, flight.

"You're the only one who's not sure about that," said Puck. He tore his hand out of Kurt's, grabbing his coat out of the closet and heading for the door. "I  _love you._  Whatever it is you think I'm feeling or not feeling,  _that's_  real. It's not going to go away because of the expiration of some fucking contract."

Kurt reached out a tentative hand. "I won't know that until it's over."

"Well, tear up the goddamn thing, then," spat Puck, staring right at him. "Because it's  _over."_

He was out the door before Kurt or Finn could say a word. Finn leaned heavily on the wall.

"Kurt..." he said, and Kurt began to cry, to Finn's dismay. "Oh, shit, man, come on..."

"God, what did I do?" Kurt put out a blind hand, and Finn caught it, holding him up.

"He's just blowing off steam. This is Puck. He'll be back. Don't worry about it."

"Finn, you don't understand." Kurt struggled against his hands, pushing away from him. "He's my responsibility. I can't let him go like this. I  _can't."_

He opened the door, stepping into his shoes, not even bothering to tie them, and rushed out onto the porch. When Finn joined him, wearing his coat and carrying Kurt's, they both stared at the tire tracks in the snow, leading out of the driveway and down the street.

"Jeez," said Finn unhappily. "He took his Ma's car."

"I need to follow him before the tracks get covered by the snow," said Kurt. He turned to Finn, grabbing his arm. "Let me borrow the Navigator."

Finn dug in his coat pocket while Kurt pulled on his coat, and handed him the keys. "You know it would be easier if you just waited? He'll be home in a few hours."

Kurt shook his head vehemently.  _"No._  He can't ever think I would abandon him when he runs. He's  _mine._  Please - tell Dad I had to go."

He stumbled through the ankle-deep slush on the driveway to the garage, climbing into his car. Finn's car, now. It blared the classic rock station as he started it up, and Kurt stabbed at the buttons with his fingers, randomly seeking a station, anything other than what was playing. He accelerated backwards out of the garage, skidding a little, and switched on the headlamps in the winter dusk. No one else was out on Christmas evening, and Puck's tracks were evident in the snow, but they were quickly filling in with fresh snowflakes.

The song on the radio slowly filtered into his consciousness, and he barely registered himself singing along until he'd driven nearly a quarter-mile.

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDvK2Ft-AcY>

_There you go, slipping away into a state of grace_   
_I know the look that comes across your face_   
_It's so familiar to me_

_Here I am, trying to keep you in my line of sight_  
 _I'm never certain that you read me right  
_ _Sometimes you don't want to see_

 _Here we are, both of us know we're in love_  
 _But that isn't always enough  
_ _I never could rise above it all, down I fall_

_But darling there you go, slipping away into a state of grace_   
_Granted, this world is not a perfect place_   
_Still it's the world that I'm in_

_Here I am talking while you don't hear a word I say_  
 _Knowing you're watching me from far away  
_ _Somewhere that I've never been_

 _Don't you see, you lived a different life than me_  
 _It doesn't mean you have to be afraid of how  
_ _We're not the same, don't leave me now_

_But darling there you go, slipping away  
_

_How can I get you to stay where you are_  
 _Keep you for going too far  
_ _Holding you here is so hard to do...I'm losing you_

_And darling there you go, slipping away into a state of grace_

Kurt was a soggy wreck by the time the neighborhood street he was following met Findlay Road, where the tracks were lost in the snow. For a minute he sat there, his heart pounding, thinking:  _I've lost him. He's really gone._

He pulled out his phone and sent a text.  _Please, tell me where you are._  Instead of waiting for an answer, he pulled forward into the intersection, windshield wipers erasing the snowflakes that fell on the Navigator as he drove west into town.

It was another three minutes before his phone buzzed with a text from Puck.  _I don't think I want to talk to you._

Kurt's mind raced as he pulled off the road, idling on the shoulder.  _Would you listen to me instead? If I called you, would you at least listen?_

Another two minutes went by. Kurt's nails were already destroyed, but he managed to find one that had survived and bite that one to bleeding. Finally there was a reply.  _Okay._

Kurt dialed Puck's number and heard him pick up. There were no words, just Puck's breathing. Kurt opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and tried to let the most important thoughts rise to the surface.

"I have to apologize. I know that's breaking protocol. Cassie would probably tell me I don't owe you anything, because you're my slave. My property. But this... you... you've become so much more than that over the past two months.

"So, first, let me say I'm sorry for insinuating anything about your sexual behavior in high school. You made your choices, and regardless of whether or not they were different from what mine would have been, I do respect your right to make them, as your own autonomous person.

"You may have signed a contract with me, Puck, but you're still your own person. I would never want to keep you under contract if you didn't want to stay. This has to be mutually beneficial for us. If you don't... if you really think this is...  _over,_  between us..." He gulped back tears. "I'll set you free."

"Kurt," Puck whispered.

"I'm not done yet. If you think, on the other hand, you might be able to tolerate being with me another three months, three weeks and four days, I hope... I  _beg you_  to reconsider." He took another deep breath. "Because I don't want to lose this. Because I've finally healed enough of myself to be able to give someone... to give  _you_ what you need. Because what I have with you makes me feel more whole, more myself than I've ever felt before. You deserve a man who's willing to risk it all to have you. And I think, with a little help, I might be able to do that."

Kurt put a hand on the steering wheel and gripped it tight, trying to steady himself. "You've been giving me the gift of your music every day for the past two months. I'd like to offer it back to you, if you'll listen."

He closed his eyes and sang into the dark, acapella, doing his best to keep the quaver out of his voice.

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTfTjVtZO8Q>

_In every heart there is a room_  
 _A sanctuary safe and strong_  
 _To heal the wounds from lovers past  
_ _Until a new one comes along_

 _I spoke to you in cautious tones_  
 _You answered me with no pretense_  
 _And still I feel I said too much  
_ _My silence is my self defense_

 _And every time I've held a rose_  
 _It seems I only felt the thorns_  
 _And so it goes, and so it goes_ _  
__And so will you soon I suppose_

 _But if my silence made you leave_  
 _Then that would be my worst mistake_  
 _So I will share this room with you  
_ _And you can have this heart to break_

 _And this is why my eyes are closed_  
 _It's just as well for all I've seen_  
 _And so it goes, and so it goes  
_ _And you're the only one who knows_

 _So I would choose to be with you_  
 _That's if the choice were mine to make_  
 _But you can make decisions too  
_ _And you can have this heart to break_

 _And so it goes, and so it goes  
_ _And you're the only one who knows_

He could hear Puck's labored breathing on the other end of the line as he fell silent.

"Honey?" he said softly.

"I'm on the peninsula in Schoonover Park, sir," said Puck. "It's cold."

Through some force of will he'd never be able to explain, Kurt managed not to burst into tears all over again. "Get back in your car, turn the heat on and wait for me in the parking lot."

"Yes, sir." The words were quiet, but in them Kurt could hear trust, and obedience. And love. He let out the breath he'd been holding.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

He didn't disconnect the phone as he drove, and he could hear Puck's quiet footsteps as he made his way back through the snow off the peninsula to the parking lot. He thought Puck might be able to hear his own beating heart, it felt so loud, so profound in the silence of the car. There was the slam of a car door, and the sound of a motor starting up.

"That song," Puck said, and stopped.

"Yes, honey?"

"For... for me."

"Yes."

There was a pause. "Nobody sings for me, sir. I don't think anybody ever has. Maybe my dad did, once; I don't remember."

Kurt nodded, stopping when he realized Puck couldn't see him. "I'll do it more," he promised. "If you want that."

"Sometimes? I mean, I love singing for you, and with you, too, sir. I really love that."

"I'm so glad, honey." He turned off Findlay into the parking lot, passing the pool. "I'm almost there."

He pulled up beside Puck's Ma's sedan and jumped out, almost losing a shoe in the slush. Puck was sitting behind the wheel, shivering, and Kurt didn't hesitate to open his door and haul him out bodily. His feet were soaked from the ankle down, and his ears were cold and white.

The moment Kurt had him in his arms, he began to to mutter, repeating over and over  _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry._  Kurt just held him, waiting until the words subsided before letting him go.

"Get in the back of the Navigator," Kurt said shortly. "You're not going anywhere until you're warm."

Puck climbed in, huddling in the middle seat, while Kurt sat next to him, taking off his coat and wrapping it around Puck's shoulders. He touched his cheeks, his poor cold ears, his lips, the collar under his shirt.

"I know it's just  _Lima,"_  said Kurt, his voice coming out scared and small. "But I feel like I could have lost you tonight."

"I would have come back." Puck glanced up at him, still shivering, and his eyes echoed Kurt's voice. "If you would have taken me."

Kurt kissed him, drawing Puck's frozen hands under his shirt to rest on his stomach. Puck groaned at the warmth and nestled in closer to him, sliding his arms around to his back.

"Always," whispered Kurt. "I'll always take you back. You're mine." He kissed him on the head. "Thank you for trusting me."

They sat there for another few minutes while Kurt texted Finn.  _He's safe,_  he said,  _and essentially in one piece._

 _We saved dinner for you,_  said Finn.  _Puck's Nana said something about singing? You know anything about that?_

Kurt tucked Puck closer against his body, not worrying about his wet jeans.  _Maybe after we get something to eat._

"You ready to drive?" he asked. Puck nodded, stretching out his stiff legs, and grimaced.

"This is the worst part of being a fuck-up," he said. "Going back to all those people looking at me, knowing what I did."

"You're not a fuck-up. And I can take care of that." Kurt kissed him again. "It's none of their business, anyway. If they love you, they shouldn't judge you."

"Fat chance," Puck snorted. "My family, they're championship judgers. Everybody's absolutely sure they're right about everything, but nobody agrees with anybody else."

Kurt climbed back out of the Navigator, tugging Puck after him. "Then somebody has to be wrong, don't they? You're the only one who really understands your own motivations. It's your life."

"No." Puck's expression was sober. "It's not. I signed it over to you. That's what I  _want_ , Kurt. But you're telling me I can't - that I can't have that."

Kurt reached up and cupped his face, tracing each troubled line with his thumbs. "No, honey. I'm telling you we have to take this one step at a time. You trust me to take care of you?"

"Yes," said Puck warily.

"Then trust me to know how to love you the way you need."

Puck's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Kurt gave him a little smack on the butt.

"Go," he commanded. "I'm following you back to my dad's house, so no side trips. Your family's worried about you."

Stopped at the traffic light on the corner of Findlay and Jefferson, he received a text.  _So you do love me?_

 _So I'm going to have to discipline you for texting while driving, too?_  he sent back, and honked his horn. Kurt watched through Puck's back window as he held up his phone in two fingers and very methodically tucked it inside his jacket, but he was grinning.

* * *

Nobody gave Puck any shit for bailing on them, so Puck guessed maybe Kurt was right about his family understanding. Dinner went smoothly, and Carole seated Kurt and Puck right next to each other, so they were able to press their legs together under the table the whole time. By the time dessert was served, he felt a lot more like himself.

Sarah caught his arm as he ducked into the kitchen to help himself to two sufganiyot. "What happened?"

"I flew off the handle about something he said," he said, shaking his head. "I was overreacting. Kurt apologized, I apologized, it's all good. Maybe better."

She frowned. "I don't know, Noah. I don't trust him."

"Hey, he's not  _your_ boyfriend. Anyway, what's not to trust?"

"Something doesn't seem right," she insisted. "It's like he's controlling you somehow."

He choked on his blueberry doughnut. "Somehow... uh..." He sighed. He dropped his voice. "I can't get into details, but..."

"Is this connected to the bruises? And that thing around your neck?" She rolled her eyes at his surprised expression. "I mean, come on, Noah, I'm not a complete innocent."

"I really don't think I can talk to my little sister about this," he muttered. He could hear Kurt and his father in the kitchen, and wondered what he'd think about this conversation. "Squirt, you're going to have to trust  _me._  Yeah, it's a little weird - maybe a lot weird, but... I want this. Kurt's told me all along I could walk away, but I don't want to."

Sarah chewed on the inside of her lip, still frowning. Then she shrugged. "Okay."

"Just like that?"

"You told me to trust you," she said. "I do. So I have to trust all of it, don't I? Even the really hard stuff."

Puck felt his heart clench, beating hard for a few seconds. "Yeah," he said, when he could breathe again. "All of it. I guess... that makes sense."

Kurt stepped out of the kitchen, approaching him. He still seemed a little tentative, but he took Puck's hand. "Your Nana suggested we might want to do our evening singing with an audience tonight. Are you up for that?"

"I am if you are," he said, surprised again. "I'll get my guitar."

Burt seemed willing to switch off the television and gave Puck a friendly smile when he sat on the couch with his Gibson. "You and Kurt," he said. "Everything okay now?"

"I think so." He strummed, tuning, and glanced over his shoulder before adding, "He's not sure I'm going to stick around."

Burt nodded. "Are you?"

"I'm thinking I will, yeah," said Puck. "But I guess nobody ever knows for sure, right?"

When Kurt came to sit beside him, Puck shifted uncomfortably on the couch until Kurt murmured, "How about you put the pillow on the floor?" He tried it, and fuck if it didn't settle him right down.  _I guess two months of doing this every day creates a pattern that's hard to break._

Nana came over and kissed him on the cheek before settling down in the chair across from him. He grinned at her. "Got any requests?"

She considered. "Start with Ma'oz Tzur, won't you? And I won't ask for anything else traditional, I promise."

Puck sang it first in Hebrew and then the translation in English, for the benefit of Kurt, Finn and their family:

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziocxPBxkjg>

_Rock of ages, let our song_  
 _Praise Your saving power;_  
 _You, amid the raging foes,_  
 _Were our sheltering tower._  
 _Furious they assailed us,_  
 _But Your arm availed us,_  
 _And Your word,_  
 _Broke their sword,  
_ _When our own strength failed us._

Kurt was smiling at him with shining eyes when he finished. "That was lovely. Thank you."

Puck wasn't at all sure how to react to that kind of expression on Kurt's face with Finn and everybody else right there in the room, so he just cleared his throat and said, "How about you pick something, Kurt."

Kurt went with familiar Christmas songs, to which everybody else sang along. Puck knew them well enough to fake a guitar part and sing the tune, but when Finn suggested they sing a duet, he had to say regretfully, "I don't know much about this holiday."

"It doesn't have to be Christmas music, Puck," Carole chided. "You know we'd love anything you sing."

Kurt hesitated only a moment before putting a hand on Puck's shoulder. "That one on  _Glass Houses,_ with the multiple parts. You remember?"

They'd sung it several times while making dinner over the last couple weeks, playing with Billy Joel's overdubbed harmony until they were happy with the way it sounded with two voices. Puck had never mentioned to Kurt how much he'd liked doing that, but as he smiled up at Kurt now, he thought maybe Kurt knew. "Yeah," he said. "Of course I remember."

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HU_g5WdDbJY>

_The cold hands_  
 _The sad eyes_  
 _The dark Irish silence_  
 _It's so late_  
 _But I'll wait_  
 _Through the long night with you  
_ _With you_

 _The warm tears_  
 _The bad dreams_  
 _The soft trembling shoulders_  
 _The old fears_  
 _But I'm here_  
 _Through the long night with you  
_ _With you_

_Oh, what has it cost you_   
_I almost lost you_   
_A long, long time ago_   
_Oh, you should have told me_   
_But you had to bleed to know_

_All your past sins_  
 _Are since past_  
 _You should be sleeping_  
 _It's all right_  
 _Sleep tight_  
 _Through the long night with me  
_ _With me_

 _No, I didn't start it_  
 _You're broken hearted_  
 _From a long, long time ago_  
 _Oh, the way you hold me  
_ _Is all that I need to know_

 _And it's so late_  
 _But I'll wait_  
 _Through the long night with you  
_ _With you_

Everybody clapped, and Puck flushed with satisfaction as Kurt squeezed his shoulder. "Beautiful," Nana declared.

Finn came up with a song from Glee to which the three of them remembered most of the lyrics, and they sang through some of their setlists from Regionals and Nationals from the past couple years. After that, it seemed as though they were going to wrap it up for the night. Puck didn't know if Kurt had intended for him to sing more Billy Joel, but after Kurt's phone serenade that evening, he decided he wasn't going to let the night go by without giving him one back. Without asking permission, he swung into the next song, and the room fell quiet.

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLQhxTvlvrA>

_We walked on the beach beside that old hotel_   
_They're tearing it down now, but it's just as well_   
_I haven't shown you everything a man can do_   
_So stay with me, baby_   
_I've got plans for you_

_This is the time to remember_  
 _'Cause it will not last forever_  
 _These are the days to hold on to_  
 _'Cause we won't, although we'll want to_  
 _This is the time,_  
 _But time is gonna change_  
 _You've given me the best of you  
_ _But now I need the rest of you_

At home, he seldom turned to face Kurt while he sang to him, and he wasn't going to do it now. Mostly because he knew he would fall apart if he had to say these lyrics while looking into his eyes.

_Did you know that before you came into my life_   
_It was some kind of miracle that I survived_   
_Someday we will both look back_   
_And have to laugh_   
_We lived through a lifetime_   
_And the aftermath_

_This is the time to remember_  
 _'Cause it will not last forever_  
 _These are the days to hold on to_  
 _'Cause we won't, although we want to_  
 _This is the time,_  
 _But time is gonna change_  
 _I know we've got to move somehow  
_ _But I don't want to lose you now_

_Sometimes it's so easy_   
_To let a day slip on by_   
_Without even seeing each other at all_   
_But this is the time you'll turn back to and so will I_   
_And those will be days you can never recall_

_And so we embrace again_  
 _Behind the dunes_  
 _This beach is so cold on winter afternoons_  
 _But holding you close is like holding the summer sun  
_ _I'm warm from the memory of days to come_

There were more songs after that, but Puck barely noticed them, his fingers on autopilot. All his attention was on Kurt's lips, pressing against his cheek, making his skin tingle, and his whispered words: "Like holding the summer sun, hmmm?"

When they were done, Nana rose to her feet with help from Finn. "It's been a long time since I heard you sing, Noah," she said firmly. "A long time. Whatever else I might say about you and your lifestyle choices, I'm very glad you and your friend are doing that together."

"Thanks, Nana," said Puck, because it really was more than he expected from her, and he accepted her kiss.

As he was putting his guitar back in its case, he caught the tail end of a heated conversation between Burt and Carole in the front room. It was muted, but he heard something about  _they're going to do it anyway_  and  _he's a grown young man now._  Burt looked annoyed, but when Carole walked away from him, he also appeared resigned. She approached Puck with a gentle smile.

"You and Kurt are welcome to stay here tonight," she said. "There's no reason the two of you shouldn't have the bigger bed here, just because Burt is being ridiculously Victorian."

"Uh, are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to cause problems."

"You're not a problem, Puck," she promised, and she hugged him. "You're a solution. I haven't seen Kurt this settled as long as I've known him. Burt will calm down."

"Settled?" Puck furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

"Kurt's always been a little  _on edge,"_ Carole explained. "But when he's with you, he's relaxed, confident. Please stay. There'll be breakfast tomorrow, not too early, and nobody will bother the two of you, I promise."

Kurt found him there in the front room a few minutes later. "Carole said we can stay here tonight," said Puck, "but I'm pretty sure your dad doesn't like the idea too much."

Kurt just smiled. "Oh, if Carole says so, it's fine. I know who's in charge in this relationship. But I'll be sure to thank my dad tomorrow, because by next week he'll think it was all his idea."

"So we can stay?" Puck didn't want to sound too eager, but he must have failed because Kurt laughed anyway as he kissed him.

"Go tell your family good night," he said, "and then I'm going to take you upstairs and do something I've never done before in this house."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the angst. I promise a happy ending, but the carnage in the meantime won't be pretty. -amy

By spring, Puck knew well enough how strong Kurt could be when he was motivated. But watching him lift weights at the gym was really something else. It was just one hundred percent hot. Puck had a hell of a time concentrating on his own workout with Kurt right there, gritting his teeth and straining, to the point that one time he almost dropped a thirty-pound free weight on some lady's foot. So he usually waited until they got home to shower afterwards, rather than attempt to maintain self-control in the locker room showers around Kurt.

Tonight, however, when he got out of the shower, Kurt and Rachel were sitting at the kitchen table, talking in quiet voices. They stopped when he joined them.

"What'd I miss?" he said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "Did somebody's pet die or something?"

"It's not your concern," Kurt said, turning away. "Why don't you get started on dinner."

Puck glanced over at Rachel, who still appeared troubled, and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, sir." He put the water on to boil.

"You're going to have to tell him," she said to Kurt.

Kurt sighed. Puck found himself gravitating to stand closer to him, as he often did when things were uncertain, and he closed the distance between them, touching Puck's back.

"They're raising the rent starting next month," Kurt explained. "I'm coming to the end of my savings rather more quickly than I'd anticipated."

Puck paused in washing the lentils. "Because you're paying for my stuff?"

"Partly. It's just not cheap to live here." He rested his chin on Puck's shoulder. "I'm going to have to get a job."

"What - what do you mean? Quit training?" Puck shook his head, feeling unaccountably angry. "You can't do that."

"I don't think I have a choice. My dad doesn't have the money to lend me right now, and even if he did, I'm not sure I would take it. It's foolish to assume I can keep going here in the city without some form of income." Kurt's arm slid around his waist. "I'm going to do my best to find a way for us to stay together while I'm working, but there's the strong possibility we're going to have to be apart during the day."

"Wait, hold on." Puck set the strainer down and turned to face Kurt, his own arms going around Kurt's waist, so they were supporting one another. "You could work part time and go to training part time, right?"

"It wouldn't pay enough," said Kurt. "Rachel and I already figured it out. I need a full-time job."

"But what if I were working part time, too?"

Rachel nudged him. "What did I tell you?"

"I can't..." said Kurt, then stopped.

"Yes, you can," insisted Rachel. Kurt tightened his mouth.

"I'd feel a lot better if I could do something to help, instead of just being here without you," said Puck.

"All right!" Kurt snapped. "Maybe. It wouldn't hurt to have us both looking for jobs, anyway. Let's see what happens."

* * *

What happened was Kurt found a retail job in Manhattan that suited him in under a week, while Puck was hired almost as quickly at the coffee shop they liked on Knickerbocker.

But then Rachel had to go and tell him, "You should be a bartender." Upon hearing this, of course, Puck became obsessed with finding a bar that would be willing to both train and hire someone under 21.

Kurt didn't like the idea at all. "You'd never be home at night," he complained, watching Puck filled out his fourth application.

"It'd mean fewer waking hours apart, though," Puck pointed out. "Better tips, too."

Kurt continued to grumble about it, but he never said the words  _you can't do that._  So Puck went ahead with his plan, taking the barista job in the meantime. Kurt cut their hours training with Cassie to three and a half days a week. They managed to coordinate their work schedules most weeks so that they were only apart for a few hours at a time.

It still sucked. That was what Puck told Rachel as he scrubbed the bathtub.

"Anything to keep my brain busy," he explained. "I'm seriously considering training for the May half-marathon."

"By then you might not need to worry about it, though," she said. "Right?"

"Yeah. Maybe not." He focused grimly on removing all the pink stuff around the drain.

"That's why you want the bartending job, isn't it?" Her voice was far too gentle.

"What, you think that would keep me busier than the coffee house?"

"No, Puck. It pays better. You think you're moving out next month."

He shrugged. "Probably. That's what Cassie told Kurt would happen. Contract's up, we'll stop needing this. Stop wanting each other like this. She said she could help find me another owner, somebody experienced, willing to train me."

"And that's what you want?" Rachel asked.

"No," he said through gritted teeth. "But Kurt's already said that's what I get. And I'm really not cut out for being alone."

The hours before dinner were the worst. Those were the times when Puck would do anything he could do to occupy himself. Until Kurt would text him to tell him he was coming home, and Puck would cook while Kurt took the train in from Manhattan. He tried to have it all done by the time Kurt walked in the door, so they could spend a few horizontal minutes together on Kurt's bed before they ate.

Over dinner each night, Kurt told him all the obnoxious retail disaster stories of that day, while Puck related the choicest comments he'd overheard at the coffeeshop. They'd developed a few overlapping obsessions with television dramas, so some nights they'd sit on the couch and watch a show; on other nights Kurt would put in a movie and they'd wrap up in each other for a few hours, just being together.

The one thing that never changed was their nightly ritual of Kurt's moisturizing and Puck's guitar. Puck continued exposing Kurt to the musical greats, working his way through Pink Floyd, Cream, The Who and even some Zeppelin. Kurt never seemed to mind listening to things he'd never heard before.

Every now and then, though, Puck would pull out another Billy Joel song, and Kurt somehow knew all of them. Last week it had been "Allentown." This week Puck vamped a similar slow, syncopated intro, and Kurt chuckled.

"Allentown again?" he said, leaning in against Puck's shoulder.

"No, it's in the same key, though," said Puck. "And it's also about hard times, in a way."

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHWX_cdzFFU>

_I never ask you where you go_   
_After I leave you in the morning_   
_We go our different ways to separate situations_   
_It's not that easy anymore_

_Today I do what must be done_  
 _I give my time to total strangers_  
 _But now it feels as though the the day goes on forever  
_ _More than it ever did before_

 _Until the night, until the night_  
 _I just might make it_  
 _Until the night, until the night  
_ _When I see you again_

Kurt sang along on the chorus, his hands gripping Puck's shoulders. Puck just drove through the verses, because it was the only way he'd found yet to tolerate singing Billy Joel's wrenching lyrics.

 _Now you're afraid that we have changed_  
 _And I'm afraid we're getting older_  
 _So many broken hearts, so many lonely faces  
_ _So many lovers come and gone_

 _I'll have my fears like every man_  
 _You'll have your tears like every woman_  
 _Today we'll be unsure, is this what we believe in  
_ _And wonder how can we go wrong_

 _Until the night, until the night_  
 _I just might make it_  
 _Until the night, until the night  
_ _When I see you again_

Their voices managed to find the perfect blend in that space where their ranges overlapped, in which Puck was singing high and strong and Kurt was singing low and rich. It made Puck ache inside to hear it, but it was a good ache, sharp and sweet.

 _When the sun goes down_  
 _And the day is over_  
 _When the last of the light has gone_  
 _As they pour into the street_  
 _I will be getting closer_  
 _As the cars turn their headlights on_  
 _As they're closing it down_  
 _I'm gonna open it up_  
 _And while they're going to sleep_  
 _We'll just be starting to touch_  
 _I'm just beginning to feel_  
 _I'm just beginning to give_  
 _I'm just beginning to feel_  
 _I'm just beginning to live_  
 _Before I leave you again_  
 _Before the light of dawn_  
 _Before this evening can end  
_ _I have been waiting so long_

 _Until the night, until the night_  
 _I just might make it_  
 _Until the night, until the night_  
 _I'll just keep holding on_  
 _Until the night, until the night  
_ _When I see you again_

Kurt took the guitar out of Puck's hands in a jangle of strings before he even concluded the last measure, and set it swiftly and carefully on its stand. Then he swept Puck down onto the bed and kissed him hard, and the ache inside left by the music was transformed into desire by the press of their bodies.

"Tonight," demanded Kurt. "I want you inside me, tonight."

The thought was almost too much for Puck's logical brain to contemplate, and he just whimpered, nodding assent. Kurt struggled out of his clothes in record time, and Puck followed, driven by Kurt's urgent need and the images his words inspired.

It wasn't as though they hadn't done this before, but seldom did Kurt ask for it, and Puck was really fine with that. Something about this particular night, though, seemed important. It made Puck determined to focus, to listen to exactly what Kurt needed, and to give it to him.

Kurt stretched out on his back, lithe and beautiful, and placed the bottle of lube in Puck's trembling hand. "I need to feel you,  _now."_

"Sir," Puck said, kneeling over him. Seeing Kurt like this made him breathless. He slicked himself as quickly as he could, raising Kurt's hips up and sliding inside him, smooth and a little slow.

But Kurt wasn't having any of that. He curled a hand behind Puck's neck, pulling their foreheads together. It was like he was the weight Kurt was lifting - only fifty times more sexy.

"Fuck me," Kurt rasped. "Fill me up, make me  _feel it."_

Puck clutched at his hips with a cry, abandoning his fear. In that moment, he would have done anything, holy fucking shit,  _anything_  at all Kurt told him to do.

"I'll fuck you any time you want, baby," he promised. "I'm yours."

"That's right.  _Mine._  You're not going anywhere, do you understand?"

Puck squeezed his eyes tight, feeling his heart constrict, but he didn't let that distract him from his actions. He wasn't going to stop until Kurt told him to. "I'm right here, sir. Every day, with you; every night, in your bed. Right here."

As soon as the words passed his lips, Puck knew he'd failed. He didn't say  _eleven more days._  He didn't say  _as long as the contract says._  He said  _every day, every night._  It was a promise Puck knew he couldn't make, but he'd said it anyway.

He hid his feelings well enough that Kurt didn't notice, or at the very least didn't comment, but the joy Puck would have experienced at their spectacular orgasms was obliterated by his shame.

 _I lied to him,_ Puck thought desperately, collapsed afterward on the bed beside Kurt, staring up at the ceiling. He accepted Kurt's embrace, kissed him, and waited until Kurt fell asleep.

Then he got up, took his pillow, and stumbled across the room to the couch, where he curled up in the smallest possible ball. Sleep didn't come for him for a long time, and while he waited, he tried to pretend it would be okay in the morning.

* * *

Kurt woke on the last day of their contract to the sound of clanging metal in the kitchen, but when he rolled to the side, Puck was still in bed with him. He sat up, calling out, "Rach? You okay?"

"Oh, you're awake!" She poked her head through the curtain, smiling brightly. "I'm making you guys breakfast. Vegan waffles and baked apples."

"Out of flour," Puck muttered, rolling over on top of Kurt's leg.

"I went shopping yesterday after practice." She closed the curtain and resumed her enthusiastic breakfast production. Kurt sighed, but it was halfhearted.

"She means well," he said, putting his arms around Puck. "And I think she means for us to have a few more minutes in bed together. That clatter would camouflage a lot of noises."

Kurt didn't get an answer from Puck, but he didn't really expect one. Puck's easy banter had been all but absent these last couple weeks. He'd followed Kurt's directions silently and to the letter, but other than that was only around as much as he had to be. Half of the time Kurt had to remind him to come sit next to him, to touch him.

He stroked Puck's head, then kissed him and suggested, "Why don't you go start your shower and I'll join you there in a moment."

Rachel looked surprised to see Kurt in his robe. "You guys don't have to be up yet. Why aren't you...?"

"We haven't been," Kurt admitted, sitting in a chair at the kitchen table. "Not for days. I mean, I could make him, but it wouldn't be the same." He sighed. "It makes sense that he would pull away. It's not easy for me, either. I wish he'd let me help."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, reaching for Kurt's hand. He took it and squeezed with a halfhearted smile.

"I'll do what I have to do."

The day could have been like any other: eating breakfast together, the subway ride into the city, walking up to the training hall together. Puck held the door for Kurt without being asked, and when they reached the room where they'd done most of their training, he sank into a perfect kneeling position. Even Cassie couldn't find fault with him.

"Come on," she said, holding out a handful of papers. "Both of you, into my office."

Kurt took the papers. "The contract," he nodded, reading it over.

"It's mostly a formality at this point," she said, "but you should both sign the agreement to quit your claim. It's not required that the slave sign, but most do, to avoid legal complications later." She turned to Puck, her face uncommonly kind. "I told you I'd help you find another owner. I think it would be to your benefit not to have to go through the auction again. I have several personal recommendations I can make to gentlemen and ladies who would appreciate a pleasure slave with your particular skills."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," Puck said quietly, "but I'm thinking I might not want to present myself as a pleasure slave this time. Kitchen, maybe."

Cassie paused. "That... changes things a bit. You know I can't recommend you if you choose something at which you haven't trained."

Puck nodded, responding only, "I can learn."

"That, I can agree to wholeheartedly. I'll see what I can do for you, Gorgeous. But for now..." She handed Kurt a pen. "You first."

Kurt turned to the last page of the contract, signing underneath his first signature, the one he'd scrawled with shaking hands six months ago, then passed the pen to Puck. He signed without a word.

Cassie stood, holding out her hand to shake Kurt's - and then Puck's. Startled, he took it.

"You're a free man, now," she reminded him. "Starting at dawn tomorrow, anyway. I'll be in touch. And, Kurt, I'll see you tomorrow as usual. The show must go on."

Puck looked between the two of them. "We're - done, ma'am?"

"You get the day off." She made flitting motions. "Go on. Shoo. I have owners to train."

Kurt took Puck's hand and led him out of the training building. He looked a little stunned.

"That's it?" he asked. "So what do we do today, sir? Uh, I mean..."

"Still sir," Kurt said, kissing his cheek. "Until dawn. I still get to tell you what to do until then... and I'm thinking I'm going to tell you it's time for half-price tickets on Broadway."

"Holy shit, sir," breathed Puck. "That's perfect. I was afraid you were going to say the Statue of Liberty or something."

They walked the handful of blocks to Times Square, enjoying the unusually warm spring day. "Remember being here for Nationals junior year?" Kurt asked. "Rachel and I snuck into the Gershwin Theater and sung a song from  _Wicked_  on the stage."

"Heh. That sounds like something you'd do." Puck grinned at him. Kurt grinned back. It was an incredible relief to have Puck talking to him again. He interlaced their fingers as they crossed the street.

"Yeah, I think that was the moment we decided to move to New York together. I was pretty clueless about myself at that point, though, not to mention still trying to make it work with Blaine. I don't think I had any idea how unhappy I was then."

Puck looked pensive. "I was in a pretty good space then, with Lauren. Even though we weren't always getting along, I was still getting what I needed, mostly. It was different than the way it is with you. With us."

"How was it different?"

"Well, she's a girl. I think that's different." He chuckled, shaking his head at Kurt's amusement. "Okay, yeah,  _different,_ but... having Lauren take care of me, and having you do that... it filled up different things inside me...  _god,_  Kurt, you're not fucking helping here!"

Kurt was having trouble continuing to walk, he was laughing so hard. "Sorry... sorry. Please, go on, tell me about exactly how she  _filled you up."_

Puck's face was scarlet, and he scowled at the seams in the concrete as they walked. "She did  _that,_  too. And you know, it doesn't feel the same, being fucked by a girl. When  _you_  do it, I know you get something out of it, too."

"Mmmm," Kurt agreed, not trusting himself not to laugh quite yet. Eventually he was able to ask, "That first day, when you used your fingers inside of me. You're saying you didn't get something out of that? Even if it wasn't going to get you off?"

Puck looked startled. "Uh... well, no. I mean, yeah, I did." He smiled at Kurt. "I love doing that. I guess I see what you mean."

Kurt tried to ask the next question very carefully. "So... could you see yourself with a female owner, then?"

"Y-es," Puck said slowly. He kicked a rock on the sidewalk and followed it with his eyes as it skittered off the curb and into the street. "That might be easier, actually."

"Easier how?"

Puck didn't answer. Kurt watched him bury his hands in his pockets, his face shutting down.

"Honey?"

"Please," Puck said, his voice low. "I don't think I can talk about this right now."

They stood in line at the half-price ticket booth in Times Square for forty minutes. Kurt jumped at the late matinee seats for  _The Columnist._  Puck gave Kurt a funny look. "Don't you want to see a musical?"

"Not when John Lithgow's only going to be doing this show for five weeks," Kurt said. "He plays Joe Alsop, the controversial, closeted political commentator and journalist who covered international news for over 50 years. The show's gotten rave reviews. This is an historic opportunity."

"Hey, I'm just asking," Puck said easily. "You're still in charge."

But from the moment the stage lights came up on two men in the bedroom together, one reclining and the other putting on his overalls, Puck was riveted. Lithgow's portrayal of Alsop was compelling, but there was clearly something else affecting Puck besides the performance.

At the intermission, he remained in his seat, looking overwhelmed. Kurt put a hand on his neck, feeling his pulse, ragged and quick.

"You're okay to stay?" he asked. Puck gazed up at him, his eyes dark and liquid, and Kurt nearly stopped breathing at his expression.

"I think so," said Puck faintly. "Maybe you could hold my hand?"

They sat like that for the rest of the play, until they rose as one for the standing ovation. Then Puck sagged against him, leaning into Kurt's body, just as he'd done every day for the past six months. Kurt buried his face into Puck's shoulder.

"I was going to suggest dinner out," Kurt said, "but I think I need to take you home now."

"Yes, please," Puck whispered.

Kurt moved cautiously, but Puck didn't seem like he was going to cut and run. On the contrary, he was clinging to Kurt more closely than ever, eliminating all the space between them, from the walk to the subway through the ride home. Kurt led him up the stairs, not driving him in front or pulling him behind, but walking beside him, their arms around each other.

"Stay with me tonight?" Kurt asked. "I know you haven't been, recently."

He saw a wave of pain pass over Puck's face. "I'm - I think I need to be gone by dawn," he said. "But I'll stay, until then."

Kurt nodded. "Would you sing to me?"

Puck looked at his guitar in the corner, standing next to his packed bags. "Kurt..." He sighed, turning back to him, and took his hand. "Can I ask you for something first?"

"Yes," said Kurt, without even considering. "Anything within my power to give you."

He put one finger on Kurt's forehead, tracing the shape of his face. "Would you let me put that cream on your face?"

Kurt laughed before he could stop himself, but Puck didn't look offended. "You're serious? That's what you want?"

Puck nodded, a faint smile on his lips. Kurt just looked at him, taking in every inch of his beautiful face. Then he kissed him, thoroughly, with intention.

"Yes, honey," he said, right against his mouth. "Without one joke about facials, I'm going to say yes, you can apply my moisturizer."

Kurt picked up the first container, ready to hand it to Puck, but Puck took it from him, shaking his head. "I know what to do," he said. "I pay attention."

"You weren't even watching most of the time," Kurt protested. Puck shook his head again. He was solemn now.

"I was watching," he said.

Kurt didn't have any more words after that. Puck moved carefully but surely, applying each product with even coverage, removing each after the appropriate amount of time. His fingers felt smooth and gentle. It made Kurt's eyes prickle with tears, but he managed not to let them escape.

Puck took his guitar out and played in between applications. They were mostly instrumental pieces, but after the moisturizing was done, he strummed a slow, familiar introduction that made Kurt smile.

"Appropriate," he said.

"Yeah, I thought so." Puck shrugged. "One more song? You won't fall apart?"

Kurt rose and settled onto his bed, leaning back against the wall. "I'm not guaranteeing anything tonight. I may very well fall apart, but... I'll try not to let it happen in the middle of the song."

"Sounds fair," he nodded, and began:

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DjbCNQRiy4A>

_Now we take our time, so nonchalant_  
 _And spend our nights so bon vivant_  
 _We dress our days in silken robes_  
 _The money comes_  
 _The money goes  
_ _We know it's all a passing phase_

 _We light our lamps for atmosphere_  
 _And hang our hopes on chandeliers_  
 _We're going wrong, we're gaining weight_  
 _We're sleeping long and far too late_  
 _And so it's time to change our ways  
_ _But I've loved these days_

 _Now as we indulge in things refined_  
 _We hide our hearts from harder times_  
 _A string of pearls, a foreign car_  
 _Oh we can only go so far  
_ _On caviar and cabernet_

 _We drown our doubts in dry champagne_  
 _And soothe our souls with fine cocaine_  
 _I don't know why I even care_  
 _We'll get so high and get nowhere_  
 _We'll have to change our jaded ways  
_ _But I've loved these days_

 _So before we end and then begin_  
 _We'll drink a toast to how it's been_  
 _A few more hours to be complete_  
 _A few more nights on satin sheets_  
 _A few more times that I can say  
_ _I've loved these days_

Puck packed his Gibson back into its case, the guitar stand already put away. Then he joined Kurt in sitting against the wall, and rested his head on Kurt's shoulder.

"Is there anything you require, sir?" he asked.

That's when Kurt started crying, because the answer was far too complex to give in the time they had left. Puck didn't say another word; he simply wrapped him up and let him cry.

"Just this," said Kurt finally.

They sat and breathed together for several long minutes, feeling the intensity of their connection, the tension of unsatisfied desire, neither willing to interrupt the moment.

Kurt wiped his eyes on a tissue. "Tomorrow... I think you should take a little time to see how you feel. Without me. And if you feel like things are... the same, then just... come home. And if you don't, then..."

His sentence petered out, but Puck didn't seem like he required a conclusion. "Yeah," he said. "I can do that."

Then he tipped his head up to Kurt, offering a kiss, and it was impossible to resist, even if Kurt had had a reason to want to. They stripped, methodically, reverently, stopping to kiss and stroke each part of each other as it was revealed. Though they often used cuffs or rope, Kurt didn't even consider suggesting either one tonight. This was just about them, about Puck and Kurt and the way they had come to fit together so perfectly.

Kurt paused a few seconds too long outside Puck's body, the hesitation driving Puck to choke, "Please -"

"I love you," Kurt said, all in a rush, and when the surprised exhalation came, he pushed into him, a little too quick, a little too dry, and Puck cried out. With each thrust, the words came too, too fast now to stop them. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I waited so long, I was just scared, and I can't - I can't deal with the idea that you might not be here tomorrow, that you won't be with me... I just don't know how I'm going to  _do_  this..."

"I don't know either, baby," Puck said, his face as open and honest as Kurt had ever seen it. "I can't fix this. I just know I love you, right now."

"God," moaned Kurt, "god, I love you too."

He'd never confessed anything that cut him so deeply, clean and slick enough to make him gasp. It stayed with him as his climax rolled over him, taking Puck's with it, until Kurt lay prone, helpless, on top of him, struggling to maintain control.

 _Don't go,_  he wanted to beg, but he wouldn't. Instead, he said, "Thank you. For everything."

"Yes, sir," Puck whispered. "It was my pleasure to serve you."

He thought Puck fell asleep first, Kurt still inside him. But Kurt woke up several times in the night with a sense of dread, groping for Puck's body, and was relieved every time to feel him there, to hear him murmur, "I'm right here, baby, you're fine."

Until the last time.

He woke up in the grey light of dawn, and the bed was empty. Puck wasn't on the couch, or in the bathroom, or making breakfast or playing his guitar or talking to Rachel. He was just gone.

Kurt cried again, bitter and despairing, knowing it was ridiculous and pointless and still unable to stop himself. He knew he would have to get up in a few hours and get dressed and go to training, and he didn't know at all how he was possibly going to manage it.

"Kurt?" The whisper was faint enough to inspire a stab of hope in Kurt's heart, but even as he sat up, looking wildly at the curtain, he saw Rachel standing there, peering in. "I thought you might... want to come lie down with me."

"Yeah," he said, wearily, rubbing his eyes. "That might be a good idea."

She didn't hold him, but rested her hand on his back, giving him something to lean against. Her bed was too soft and too wide, and her pillow didn't smell anything like Puck. It was foreign enough to lull him back to sleep for a few more hours.

Rachel helped drag him into consciousness the last time, sending him back to the bathroom twice to redo his hair, which was embarrassing enough to get him to straighten up.

"You're working tonight," she said, and he nodded. She bit her lip. "If he - I'll text you, okay?"

"Thanks," said Kurt.

Cassie was her usual blunt self. "You need to move on, Kurt," she said, handing him the rope for his morning shibari lesson. "Nobody wants an owner who can't be present with their slave. If you're going to get all depressed and weepy about losing this, I'm going to have to ask you to stay home and not waste my time."

"Understood," he said, as best as he could. "I don't want to do that."

He didn't get any texts that day, nor on the train on the way home. When he arrived, the house looked the same as it had when he'd left that morning. Puck hadn't taken much away, but he hadn't brought much with him when he'd arrived, either. Rachel looked up from the chair in the family room, giving him a quick shake of her head.

Kurt tried to tell himself he'd expected it, that it wasn't any different from what he'd been assuming would happen all along, but the crushing disappointment inside told him otherwise. He went into the kitchen, running a miserable hand along the back of the chairs.

"Okay." He took a resolute breath in, then let it out. "I'm going to survive this."

_If I tell myself enough times, it might end up being true._


	10. Chapter 10

Rachel and Finn insisted on wearing their blaringly rainbow  _Straight, But Not Narrow_  shirts to Pride that summer, while Kurt stuck with the blue and black of the leather community. "It's not exactly the same," he'd told them, "but it's as close as I get to coming out in the soft world."

But in the heat of the June sun, he regretted his decision. Neither Rachel nor Finn seemed to care about the heat, standing happily amid a sea of LBGT parade-goers. Kurt mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, watching the floats roll by down Fifth toward the Village, and tucked it into his back pocket.

"Better switch that to the left," said an amused voice beside him. "Somebody's might think you're a bottom."

The voice showed up in his dreams often enough for him to not feel too surprised to hear it, but he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before turning to face Puck with a smile. "Anybody who thinks that just doesn't know me very well," he said, "and I wouldn't sleep with them anyway."

Puck didn't hesitate to offer a hug, and Kurt accepted it, quick and firm, even though he was sweating like crazy. "Good to see you," Puck murmured into his ear.

"Likewise," Kurt replied. He tried not to look like he was staring, but Puck was wearing a complicated half-harness and very tight shorts, and... damn. When his eyes finally made it back to Puck's face, Kurt saw he was grinning.

"I saw Finn already," he said, nodding at the two waving rainbow flags at the drag queens. "He's living here now?"

That was a safe topic. "For the summer. Some kind of trial basis, I suppose, but they're managing remarkably well, considering Finn never puts his dishes in the sink."

"You need a new slave," Puck decided. "Hard to go back once you had somebody doing all your shit work for you, huh?"

It had been, but not for the reasons Puck was insinuating. Every time Kurt swept the floor or wiped down the sink in the bathroom, he'd end up feeling unreasonably sentimental about the whole thing. There really wasn't anything in the apartment that didn't remind him of Puck, actually.

"So you're not - I mean, you don't have a -" Kurt touched his neck delicately, and Puck's eyes flickered to it, then away.

"Not right now," he said. "Trying this living on my own in the city thing. I'm getting by. And, hey..." Puck squeezed a hand into his absurdly tight back pocket and pulled out a slightly damp business card. "I'm a bartender now. Come on in some night, and I'll make you a virgin cocktail that'll knock your socks off."

"Sounds great," Kurt said honestly. "Enjoy the rest of Pride."

He watched Puck disappear into the sea of bodies, staring after him until Rachel appeared next to him, smiling.

"How's he doing?" she asked.

"Fine," Kurt replied. "I mean, I think he's okay. I suppose he could just be covering really well."

"Kurt." Rachel put a consoling hand on his shoulder. " _You're_  not covering really well."

He swallowed, blinking ferociously at the sidewalk. "Ah. No. I'm... I'm not."

But Kurt had figured out how to deal well enough with his feelings that he was able to enjoy the rest of the day, even though every time he turned around and saw a bald man in a leather harness, his heart leapt. Even though none of the fine asses in the crowd came anywhere close to the one in his memory.

He switched his grey handkerchief to his left side back pocket. He also kept checking to make sure the card was still in his possession. When he gathered for lunch with Rachel and Finn, he showed it to them. Finn was far more excited than he should have been.

"Dude!" he said, watching Kurt expectantly. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," said Kurt.

Finn waited for more, but when Kurt just sipped his water, his eyebrows dropped, perplexed. "What do you mean,  _nothing?_ Haven't you been totally missing him this whole time? He's here at Gay Pride. Doesn't that mean something?"

"Yeah." Kurt stirred his ice cubes around with his straw. "It means the same thing it meant two months ago, when he didn't come back. He doesn't feel it. He doesn't want it with me. And me, showing up at his bar, that's not going to change that."

Rachel glanced at Finn. "Kurt... we're worried about you. You don't do anything anymore except train, work and sleep."

To his credit, Kurt didn't say,  _Hey, I listen to Billy Joel on my iPod, too._  "I understand, but you're expecting me to pick up and move on, just like that? I don't think it works that way."

"No, Kurt, I'm expecting you to go talk to him. You don't have to be his friend, but I think you need resolution here. Whatever you think is going on, you owe it to yourself to get his side of the story. He was  _glad_  to see you."

Kurt had to admit that Puck's smile had appeared genuine. He found himself smiling at the idea.

"Maybe," he conceded.

There was no  _maybe._  Kurt knew he would go, stupid or not, pointless or not. It had been two months, and he still woke up every morning reaching for Puck. He missed him every day in so many ways, he'd stopped counting. Whatever had been eliminated for Puck when the contract had expired, it didn't seem to have happened for Kurt. The words he'd finally said on that last day were still true.  _  
_

* * *

The bar was called Ulrey's, a step above a hole in the wall in Queens, with a small stage at the end and a few televisions mounted on the wall, more neighborhood dive than sports bar. It was a little more working-class and straight than Kurt usually frequented, but when he spotted Puck at the end of the bar, he stopped worrying about the setting and slid into a stool in front of him.

Puck gave him a slow smile. "Hey, there," he said, looking him up and down. "I haven't seen you here before, stranger. What're you having?"

"A hell of a summer," replied Kurt, smiling back. "And, apparently, a virgin cocktail. I hear they're good here, but I'm not sure I can trust my sources."

Puck appeared to think this over. "Depends on if you'd rather have an honest opinion, or one that makes you feel good."

"Honest, please. I don't need pretty lies."

"Then no, they're not all that great. But you can be sure I'll do my best with what I've got." Puck combined orange juice, lime and Sprite in an aluminum cup with crushed ice and shook it, straining it over cubes in a highball glass. "Here you go."

He held onto the glass for a moment, brushing Kurt's fingers with his. Kurt felt the tension in his stomach escalate, but he didn't look away from Puck's intense gaze.

"Thanks," he said, and raised the glass to his lips. It actually was very good, and he said so.

"Yeah, well." Puck shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "Most of my patrons don't get fresh-squeezed orange juice."

Kurt laughed in surprise. "You didn't even know I was coming."

"No, but I did invite you. So I took a chance." He hesitated, then added, "Thanks, Kurt. I know I didn't have any right to expect you would come."

He nodded, sipping his drink. "I wasn't going to, but Rachel said I should give you a chance to explain."

Puck rinsed out his shaker and put it back into the refrigerator. "I... think that conversation should wait until I'm done with my shift," he said. "Not really very professional of me to start freaking out and crying or some shit."

Kurt took a steadying breath. "Yeah," he agreed. "That sounds like a wise idea. Maybe we can stick with something simpler until then. Where are you living?"

"Gail found me a room, not too cheap, but it's safe and close to work, and the family is Marketplace. They're vegan, too, which is good, because apparently you guys have spoiled me for eating meat ever again. They have two slaves living with them now."

Puck wasn't showing Kurt much in the way of real emotion, but Kurt saw a glimmer of wistful longing on his face as he mentioned the slaves. "Are you thinking you'll stay... free, for a while?" Kurt asked, his voice coming out a little hoarse.

"I don't know." Puck wiped the counter. "It's kind of awful," he said, matter-of-fact.

"Oh," Kurt whispered. He clutched the edge of the bar. "God. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I know you did what you thought was right, ending the contract like that. And I guess you got the answer you needed, huh?"

"I think so. I mean... Puck..."

"Don't," he interrupted, his eyes intense. "I'll be done in half an hour."

Kurt nodded, watching him. He felt suddenly miserable. "Do you want me to go?"

"No. Please." Puck sighed, and touched his hand. The overwhelming connection Kurt remembered feeling with him was absent, which just made Kurt feel even worse. "If you don't want to be here, then, fine, but... I don't want you to go. In fact, I have something for you, if you're willing to let me give it to you."

"I think so?" Kurt said, confused.

"All right. Let me finish up my shift, and then I'm - uh, we can talk."

Kurt moved from the bar to one of the tables in the dim, vaguely smoky room. He sent a text to Rachel, telling her where he was.  _It's just as hard as I'd guessed it would be,_  he said.  _I can't imagine the next conversation will be any easier._

 _Keep an open mind,_  she replied.  _And if you need anything, I'm here. Both of us are._

When Kurt looked up again, Puck was nowhere to be seen. He figured he was just in the back, but several minutes went by, and no Puck. He tried not to get concerned.  _You're not taking care of him anymore,_  he told himself severely. It was disturbingly easy to fall right back into that pattern.

Then he heard Puck's guitar. For a moment he couldn't tell where it was coming from, but then he saw a light on the stage at the end of the room. Puck was there, seated on a chair in the center of the stage, and he was looking right at Kurt as he began to sing:

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txnho8ClqyY>

_Well, I'm shameless when it comes to loving you_  
 _I'd do anything you want me to  
_ _I'd do anything at all_

 _And I'm standing here for all the world to see_  
 _There ain't that much left of me  
_ _That has very far to fall_

_You know I'm not a man who has ever been_   
_Insecure about the world I've been living in_   
_I don't break easy, I have my pride_   
_But if you need to be satisfied  
 _I'm shameless__

The other patrons glanced back at Kurt, startled. Thankfully, none of them looked upset to see their bartender singing to another man. Kurt felt frozen in shock, but hearing Puck singing again kind of overrode any fears he was having. And the words... he watched Puck smile at him, and he smiled back helplessly.

"He's your boyfriend?" asked a woman at the next table.

"He was," Kurt said. "Not anymore."

She looked back at the stage, then grinned at Kurt. "I kind of think he wants to be, again?"

 _Baby I don't have a prayer_  
 _Anytime I see you standing there  
_ _I go down upon my knees_

 _And I'm changing, I swore I'd never compromise_  
 _But you convinced me otherwise  
_ _I'll do anything you please_

Puck stood up as he sang these words, keeping his focus right on Kurt, who was starting to feel faint. He came down the stairs on the front of the stage and walked slowly toward him, still playing.

 _You see in all my life I've never found_  
 _What I couldn't resist, what I couldn't turn down_  
 _I could walk away from anyone I ever knew  
_ _But I can't walk away from you_

By now he was standing beside Kurt's table, and the entire bar was watching Puck singing to him. Kurt sat there, gazing up at him, trembling and limp and useless and more turned on than he knew what to do with, but still the words came, pouring over him with every verse.

 _I have never let anything have this much control over me_  
 _Cause I worked too hard to call my life my own_  
 _Yes, I made myself a world and it worked so perfectly_  
 _But it's your world now, I can't refuse_  
 _I never had so much to lose  
_ _I'm shameless_

Puck smiled confidently through the guitar solo. All Kurt could think of was Puck, tied and spread-eagled on his bed, absolutely helpless in his submission, and wonder if anyone would believe that this beautiful, willful man could possibly want such a thing from somebody like Kurt.  _He was mine,_  he wanted to say.  _I had him, and now I've given him up, and I can't believe I was such an idiot._

Puck dropped his voice down to almost nothing for the next verse, building to a crescendo.

_You know it should be easy for a man who's strong_   
_To say he's sorry or admit when he's wrong_   
_I've never lost anything I ever missed_   
_But I've never been in love like this..._   
_It's out of my hands_

_I'm shameless, I don't have the power now_  
 _But I don't want it anyhow  
_ _So I've got to let it go_

 _I'm shameless, shameless as a man can be_  
 _You can make a total fool of me_  
 _I just wanted you to know  
_ _I'm shameless_

The other patrons in the bar reacted with spontaneous applause as Puck concluded, setting his guitar down on the table next to Kurt. He got down, first on one knee, then on both, and reached for Kurt's hands.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to propose," he murmured. "I'm not that insane. Well, not today."

"Puck," Kurt said, looking around a little wildly. "What's going on?"

"I'm apologizing," he said. "The only way I know how. Kurt... I couldn't come back that night and tell you how I felt. I couldn't deal with the idea that you didn't want to keep me, didn't want to extend the contract. I thought that meant you didn't trust me." He smiled. "Stupid. So I went to Gail... and she sent me to Imala Anderson."

"Oh." Kurt wanted to tell Puck to get off his knees, to sit across from him at the table, but he couldn't get the words out. "I thought she didn't talk to anybody," he managed instead.

"Yeah, that's what everybody told me too. But Gail had told her about me, and I guess she was curious? Anyway, we had a good talk."

"What did she say?"

"She told me about pleasure slaves, and the legends behind the contract. You know this legacy's gone back over five hundred years, documented and everything?"

"No kidding." He squeezed Puck's hands. "But you decided you didn't want... to do that this time. To contract yourself as a pleasure slave again?"

"Well. She said it wasn't uncommon for pleasure slaves and their owners to establish a romantic relationship, and most of those who do make it a fairly permanent arrangement." His face was turning redder. "But they don't generally have... this."

"Have what?" said Kurt softly.

Puck reached up and touched Kurt's face with one hand. "Baby... I love you. No tricks, no contracts. Nothing or nobody is telling me what to do anymore, except for  _me,_  and all I can do is think about you."

"Really?"

Puck only smiled a little at Kurt's eager squeak. "Really. Fuck, Kurt, I  _miss_  you. I miss all the stuff we did: training with you every day, cooking meals for you, hanging out, singing, going to the club, sleeping in your bed... okay, yeah, and the sex, I miss that too. You gave me things I didn't even know I wanted, until I lost them. I want all of that back."

He took Kurt's hands and gathered them in his, determined and solemn. "So here's what I'm saying. If you want me like this... I'll be your boyfriend. Kinky, fuck yeah, but just a boyfriend, no contract. I love you, with or without some mystical shit tying us together." He stroked a hand along Kurt's shoulder, down the outside of his arm, back to his hands. "But if you'll have me, I  _want_  another contract, with you. A long one, this time. Years. Longer, maybe, someday. I'm not ashamed to ask for it. I want... please, sir." He gazed up at Kurt, full of so much hope. "I beg you. Let me be your slave again."

"Oh, honey," Kurt said, and his voice broke. He gathered Puck close, kneeling there between his legs on the dirty floor of the dark bar. The other patrons might as well have been ghosts for all Kurt cared. All his attention was on the man before him, the man he loved with all his heart.

He kissed him gently on the forehead. "I don't need a contract," he whispered, "to tell me you belong to me. I already know that. But if you want it... I'm yours."

"Mine?" Puck said, with a startled intake of breath. "Kurt - god, really?" He laughed, and Kurt could hear relief, and joy, and the kind of profound gratitude that stems from having one's deepest wishes come true.

"Yours," said Kurt. He was smiling hard enough that his face hurt. "And you're mine."

* * *

Puck took him back to his room in Queens. He had a friendly nod for his landlords, who raised an eyebrow at Kurt's presence but didn't do more than smile at them as they went upstairs. It was small and spare, but Kurt wasn't looking at the decorating. He was looking only at Puck.

"What did you do with your collar?" he asked, unbuttoning Puck's shirt and finding only bare skin underneath. Puck chuckled, looking a little embarrassed.

"It's in my guitar case," he said. "I couldn't think of a safer place to keep it."

"I'm just glad you didn't throw it away." Kurt ran his hands over Puck's back, reveling in the feeling of his body. "It cost more than I make in a month at the store."

It was different, without the compelling force of the contract, but the freedom was almost sweeter, knowing they had it by choice.  _But it always was a choice,_  thought Kurt with satisfaction.  _And now w_ _e're choosing each other, all over again._

"Sounds a little like a wedding ring, huh?" Puck wound his hands around Kurt's own bare back, holding their bodies together. Kurt nodded slowly.

"A lot like that," he said. "I think... this would be a lot like that. Does that scare you?"

"No." Puck smiled. "I haven't felt quite right since I took it off, and I want you to put it back on me as soon as you're ready."

Kurt gripped Puck's triceps in his hands. "Yes. When I'm ready." He leaned in and kissed him, wet and indecent, until Puck was making delicious noises. "I don't think you'll have to wait too long, though."

"That's... that's good," Puck said, a little dazed.

Kurt pressed him down to sit on the edge of the bed, then opened Puck's guitar case. He took the guitar out, holding it to his chest. The collar was nestled against the soft velvet, inside the space under the neck. He took that out, too, and set it on Puck's pillow.

"I never knew if I'd get to sing this for you," said Kurt, putting the guitar on his lap and strumming an awkward F chord progression. Puck watched him with obvious surprise and dawning delight. "But I've been practicing it, and... well, I think this is the time."

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQtw5Wc3_uI>

_You can make me free_   
_You can make me smile_   
_You can make me be like a little child_   
_You can melt the ice that chills my body_   
_You can dry my ev'ry tear_   
_You can make the lonely hours disappear_

_You can make me free_   
_You can make me rise_   
_You can make me see_   
_So open up my eyes_   
_Don't you know my only real moments are the ones I spend with you?_   
_How I long to drink some wine again with you?_

_I can take to the skies_  
 _I can soar like a bird_  
 _With his heart full of song, yeah, yeah_  
 _Won't you color my eyes?  
_ _I've been waiting so long_

 _You can make me free_  
 _You can make me cry_  
 _You can make it so much better if you only try_  
 _And if I must wait a lonely lifetime_  
 _Until I am with you, my love  
_ _I will wait but you'll be what I'm dreaming of_

Puck was crying halfway through the second verse, but he smiled through the entire thing. When Kurt was done, he took the guitar out of his hands and put it back into its case. Then he laid his head in Kurt's lap, reaching around his waist and hanging on tight.

"Kurt," he said, sighing, "if you hadn't already totally fucking won my heart, that song would have done it."

"I'm pretty sure that's what it was meant to do, honey," said Kurt, stroking his head. "And I think you'd better sit up before I think of something else for you to do with your head in my lap."

Puck snuggled closer, content. "That's exactly what  _I'd_  meant to do... sir."

* * *

EPILOGUE

"Kurt?" Blaine's head appeared around the door, smiling when he saw what Kurt was trying to do in the mirror. "You're doing that all wrong - here. Just stop."

"I can tie a goddamn bow tie, Blaine," Kurt moaned, his fingers fluttering in the air, but he let Blaine handle it, and in short order, he had a perfect bow over the tuxedo collar.

"You can thank me later, when you're not so grumpy," Blaine said, kissing his cheek. "Right now I think it's about five minutes to curtain. You have everything? All your props?"

"I'm pretty sure I've got it covered." Kurt checked his pockets one more time, putting his hands on each important piece: the contract, the ring, the collar. He took a deep breath. "Everybody's here, right? I don't have to worry about Cassie not showing at the last minute?"

"I think if you can be in control of it, you are, Kurt." Blaine took his shoulders in his hands and looked into Kurt's eyes with a wide smile. "You're doing it."

"Yeah. I am." There was no question in Blaine's eyes whether or not this was the right decision. Kurt hugged him fiercely, making him exclaim and laugh, but he hugged right back. "Thank you for always believing in me."

"I love you. I'm just so happy you got what you wanted, finally." Blaine took his hand. "You ready?"

Kurt closed his eyes and took one more deep breath, feeling the certainty inside himself. "Yes."

"Then let's get out there." They walked hand in hand through the doors of the training hall, past the slaves smiling at them, outside to the garden, where Puck was waiting with Imala and their guests.

Kurt knew exactly how good Puck would look in his tuxedo, of course, considering he'd designed it, but he still found himself speechless and smiling. Blaine placed Kurt's hand in Puck's before returning to stand beside Sam.

Imala had explained it to Kurt, but she had to explain it again to the assembled friends and Marketplace-friendly family members (Carole and Burt were there, and Puck's Ma, along with Sarah, Finn and Rachel, but Puck had decided his Nana would never quite be accepting enough to understand this, so they'd just sent her an engagement announcement and left it at that).

It wasn't a marriage, and it wasn't an exchange of property, though aspects of both had been worked into the ceremony. It was more an affirmation of what they'd discovered about each other years ago, when Cassie had drawn up their second contract. That one had been for two years. This one would be for life.

The words just slid over Kurt, although he'd participated in the writing of them, and he knew they were pretty and meaningful. All of his attention was on Puck's hazel eyes smiling at him as he knelt for Kurt to buckle the collar around his neck, and the tears that glistened when he slipped the ring on Kurt's fourth finger.

"... For as long as I may serve you," said Puck. Kurt swallowed back his own tears, and put a hand on Puck's head, saying his own oaths, the promises they'd agreed to make to one another.

But the only words that really mattered to Kurt came when Puck reached for his guitar, and they stood together and sang. They didn't have any other music at the ceremony. No one could have managed to convey the musical bond they had forged together - although Puck had suggested they write a personal letter to Billy Joel telling their story and inviting him to sing. Kurt had smiled, and declined.

"It's our music now," he'd said. "It should come from us."

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r34i3aU14cY>

_When you look into my eyes_  
 _And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul_  
 _It always comes as a surprise_  
 _When I feel my withered roots begin to grow_  
 _Well, I never had a place that I could call my very own_  
 _But that's all right, my love,  
_ _'Cause you're my home_

 _When you touch my weary head_  
 _And you tell me everything will be all right_  
 _You say use my body for your bed_  
 _And my love will keep you warm throughout the night_  
 _Well, I'll never be a stranger  
_ _And I'll never be alone_

 _Wherever we're together, that's my home_  
 _Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike_  
 _Indiana's early morning dew_  
 _High up in the hills of California  
_ _Home is just another word for you_

 _If I travel all my life  
_ _And I never get to stop and settle down  
_ ' _Long as I have you by my side  
_ _There's a roof above and good walls all around  
_ _You're my castle, you're my cabin, you're my instant pleasure dome  
_ _I need you in my house 'cause you're my home_

THE END


End file.
